


Daydreams

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Series: Ficlets [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Best Friends, Birthday Fluff, Bodyguard, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Crack, Christmas Fluff, Closets, Crack, Crime AU, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, FS Kiss Prompt Collection, First Dates, First Kiss, Fitz's POV, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Food Fight, For Science!, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Future Fic, Hanukkah, Headcanon, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Implied Sexual Content, Jemma's POV, Jemmaginary, Jewelry, Jewish Holidays, Kissing, Laboratories, Laughter, Lingerie, Long-Distance Relationship, Making Out, Marriage Proposal, Missing Scene, Mistletoe, Misunderstandings, Modern Royalty, Monkeys, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Naked Cuddling, Netflix and Chill, Nudity, Past Torture, Pining, Poker, Poker Nights, Post-Coital Cuddling, Pregnancy Scares, Public Display of Affection, Role Reversal, Romance Novel, SHIELD Academy, Scars, Secret Relationship, Skye's POV, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Surprise Kissing, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, Workplace Relationship, ambiguously bi Fitz, tw: mentions of will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 59
Words: 71,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Did you know that my dreams change upon the hour? It happens every time I see your face in new light.</i>
</p><p>A series of ficlets about FitzSimmons, in AUs, canon, and everything in between.</p><p>
  <span class="small">**<i>Chapter 59 updated with a Bodyguard AU!</i>**</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These were all originally posted on [my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com), and I decided it would be good to gather them all in one AO3 doc. 
> 
> Each chapter will contain a separate drabble/universe. Please note ratings for _each_ individual chapter. The vast majority are rated PG-13 or under, but one or two may rank higher than that depending on the content.
> 
> Comments are my lifeblood, and subscribe to get updates! :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Sao Paulo, Fitz overhears someone singing in the mess hall.
> 
> Rated G. Missing moment set between 2x10/2x11. Canon-compliant.
> 
> (For what it's worth, she's singing "Hush, Little Baby.")
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/110785197668/fitzsimmons-17).

Jemma’s voice was quiet in the pre-dawn light, but it carried through the hallways just far enough to catch Fitz’s attention. He’d been sleeping at odd hours since their return with Skye, waking often to check on her, but he hadn’t expected anyone else to be awake yet, and least of all Jemma. 

The gentle clip of the spoon against her tea mug provided a metronomic effect, tapping along with her voice as he peered around the mess hall entryway. She was wearing the same blouse she had the night before, and he wondered if she’d been monitoring Skye all night; in theory they all took shifts, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d insisted on staying while another agent slept. The tune was soft, and he realized at last that it was a children’s rhyme. 

Her curls shone in the fluorescent glow, face shadowed, and he pressed his thumb into the center of his left palm to stop the tremor that started. Something at once cold and warm settled in the pit of his stomach while he listened to her sing, and he tried to remember if he’d ever seen her like this before.  _Course you haven’t_ , he scolded himself.  _It was never like this before_. 

"Hi."

His voice broke the peaceful spell she’d created and she jumped, a spoonful of tea splashing all over her blouse. 

"Oh my God,  _Fitz_!” For half a second, Jemma reacted to his disturbance exactly as she had for almost a decade, her tone equal parts surprise and exasperation, and he almost wanted her to reproach him solidly for sneaking up on her. But then her eyes met his face and she morphed back into new Jemma, the one who tiptoed around him like he would disintegrate before her at any second, and a sliver of resignation slid through his chest.

"S-sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you - I can…"

He reached out with both hands, intending to go for the paper towels, but she gave him a thin smile and waved him off.

"It’s alright. I’m on my way back to my bunk anyway."

"Stayed up with her all night?"

Jemma tilted her head in genuine surprise, and he almost wanted to scoff; they may not talk much these days, but he still knew her better than anyone else. Possibly even than herself.

"Actually, I was in the SSR file room again. I thought there might be something more about the obelisk, but…"

His eyes widened and a slight flush crept up the back of his neck. So much for knowing her - anymore, certainly, if he ever had at all. He really thought he had, once.

"Oh. Right. Anything…?"

"Not yet."

Fitz gave her a small smile and nod, and his thumb worked its way back into worrying at his palm. He half-turned, then tilted his head towards where she was dabbing at her blouse.

"I didn’t know you could sing." Her brows furrowed as she glanced up at him in genuine confusion, a smile teasing at her lips. "I don’t mean at karaoke or w-with the radio, y’know. Heard that plenty. Not like…" He waved his hand vaguely in her direction, and his pulse sped up as the awareness that she probably didn’t care began to consume him. She had other things to think about, important things, and he made her uncomfortable just by being here; he could see it in her eyes, and the way her lips thinned ever-so-slightly whenever she looked at him. "It was just - it was nice. That’s all." 

As Jemma opened her mouth to reply, he turned abruptly away and strode into the hallway, cursing his own stupidity. She didn’t care what he thought about her  _singing,_ for God’s sake - she wasn’t doing it for him, not that she should.

He was so caught up in berating himself that he didn’t catch the small “Thank you” that came shortly after, followed by a quiet, regretful sigh. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated light T.  
> I saw [this post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/126293269378/danger-days-of-our-lives-likehemmins-imagine) and couldn’t resist! Consider this a vaguely-defined, non-SHIELD, post-university AU.
> 
> (Also, Fitz's roommate is Trip, although that isn't strictly relevant.)
> 
>   
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/126363512482/another-fitzsimmons-drabble-rated-light-t-i-saw)  
> 

Jemma Simmons was never going to accept a dinner invitation from someone she met outside the gym  _ever again_. She should have known that listening to Skye’s enthusiastic head-nod over the guy’s shoulder was a recipe for disaster. Worst of all, her personal aversion to losing meant that she’d been sitting alone for almost an hour, and she suspected that she was this close to being asked to give up the table if she wasn’t going to order anything. Sighing, she twirled her salad fork in both hands and admitted that her expectations for this date had been low anyway, so her current annoyance was not so much because of the date, but because of the waitress hovering uncomfortably close to the table. Because luck was not on her side today, she recognized more than a few people in this popular local bistro, so being asked to leave her table would be mortifying on more levels than she cared to consider.

“Excuse me, miss,” came a familiar, nasally voice. Jemma turned to see her least-favorite waitress had returned, sink-bleached hair and bright blue eyeshadow making her appear rather like the human embodiment of a pushy scarecrow. “I was just wondering if -“

“He’ll be here any minute,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to hide the strain in her voice. The moron clearly wasn’t going to show up at this point; maybe if she texted Skye, she’d come save her - she still owed Jemma for the manscaping incident, anyway.

“I’m sure,” Ms. Scarecrow replied, “but would you consider waiting at the bar? We need to -“

“I’m so sorry I’m late, love,” said someone in a vaguely familiar Scottish brogue, and suddenly that same someone was pressing a light kiss to Jemma’s cheek. “My name’s Fitz, just play along,” he whispered into her ear before sliding into the chair across from her. “Can we see the drinks list, please?” He gave the waitress a pleasant smile, to which she returned a grimace and a nod.

Flustered even more than she already had been, it took Jemma a moment to realize that she recognized the bright blue eyes and tousled sand-brown curls now sitting across from her. Once the waitress was gone, Fitz leaned forward over his place settings, speaking low underneath the busy restaurant’s chatter.

“I hope you don’t mind, but you looked like you were in trouble, so… I can leave whenever you want, if your boyfriend’s almost here.”

“Uh, no, date - not boyfriend, and I think at this point it’s safe to say that I’ve been stood up.” She gave him a rueful smile, and the gobsmacked expression he gave back actually lifted her spirits somewhat.

“Bastard. Hope someone - I dunno, keys his car or something.” Jemma laughed, and he grinned. “He’d deserve it.”

“You didn’t have to introduce yourself, you know - I know who you are.” She winced, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Um, I - didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just remember you from Chemistry, with Professor Leekie? First year at Springfield Uni?”

“Oh,” he breathed, cheeks turning faintly pink. “Yeah, I, uh, I remember you, too, but I didn’t… didn’t want you to feel badly if you didn’t remember. Been a few years and all.”

“What’s my name?”

His eyebrows raised almost to his hairline, and she allowed herself a brief smirk. “What?”

“You  _said_  you remember me, but I’m not convinced.”

Fitz let out a small snort and leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable, it seemed. “Jemma Simmons. You got two points higher than me in the final because I didn’t bother with the extra credit.”

Leaning forward to hide the width of her smile behind a sip of water, Jemma nodded. “Okay, you’ve passed the test.”

“Why’m  _I_  the one who has to pass a test? Last time I checked, I was saving  _you_  from being kicked out of the restaurant.”

Jemma chuckled and raised an eyebrow as she set her water glass back down. “Go ahead then - what’s my test?”

“What’s my  _first_  name?”

“Leopold.”

“How in the  _hell_  did you remember that?!”

“The wine list, sir.” The waitress had returned with a classily-bound leather menu, although it took Fitz a second to stop staring at Jemma in shock.

“Right, ah, thanks.”

“Not a problem at all, sir,” the waitress responded, with a tone that distinctly implied she would rather do nothing other than shove that very menu where the sun don’t shine.

Once she was out of earshot, Fitz glanced back at Jemma. “She’s a right ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”

“She and I have become very dear friends,” she deadpanned, and he chuckled. “And I remembered because we were originally supposed to be lab partners until they swapped the order - they never changed the label at my station, so your name was there all semester.”

“Right,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, you’ve still got an absurdly good memory.”

“Probably how I got two points higher than you, too.” She grinned at the indignant look on his face, and realized rather abruptly that she was  _flirting_  with him - actually, properly flirting with the guy from her old chem lab who had avoided her for an entire semester. Bringing herself back into the moment, she glanced at the wine menu that he was still holding. “So, what were you doing here? Or do you just hang around nice restaurants, waiting to swoop in and save jilted women?"

“My roommate works here, actually - waits tables to help pay for med school. He forgot his scrubs, again, so I brought him a bag. I was on my way out when I spotted you looking rather like you wished the floor would swallow you whole.”

“You’re an all-around hero, you are,” she teased, leaning forward in a way that allowed her hair to fall rather fetchingly over her shoulder (and perhaps show a little extra cleavage, but Jemma Simmons was a proper young lady who didn’t take such things into account). “Bringing your roommate clothes, saving me - are you going to help a little old lady cross the street next?”

“No,” he answered, and then glanced down at his watch. “But in ten minutes there’s going to be a cat that needs to be rescued from a tree just down the block.”

Jemma laughed again, fascinated by the near-surprise that lingered under the smile he wore every time he made her laugh, as if he never expected her to do so. Which was ridiculous, because if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t seem like much of a natural flirter - and that she’d known him back at uni - she’d have thought he did this every night. “You’ve certainly changed since chem lab, Leopold Fitz.”

He blanched and shuddered. “Please, really, stick to Fitz - I feel like I should be using a walker when anyone calls me Leopold.” Then he seemed to do a sort of mental double-take, and he tilted his head in confusion. “What d’you mean that I’ve changed?”

“Well, you’ve decided you don’t hate me anymore, for starters.” She made the decision right there that the way his mouth dropped open whenever he was indignant was her favorite of his expressions. Of the few she’d seen, anyway - all she really remembered from uni was him frowning or looking rather bored.

“I never hated you!”

“Oh, Fitz, really, it’s fine,” she said, leaning forward to brush her hand tentatively over his. “It was years ago, now, I don’t mind -“

“No, really, I  _never_  hated you,” he insisted, pulling the menu into his lap so he could scoot forward. “Honestly, I could nev- I just, well, I didn’t.” His voice and gaze were fervent, striking blue eyes staring into her own so earnestly that she had to look away.

“Okay,” she conceded, although in truth she didn’t believe him. She still vividly remembered being miffed that her sole competitor for grades couldn’t be bothered to even look her in the eye. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what are  _your_  plans for the rest of the evening?”

He shrugged, turning the menu absently in his hands. “Nothing, really - I’ve got work early tomorrow, so I was gonna grab takeaway and catch up on some reading.”

“Right, well….” Jemma glanced around, thinking briefly that it seemed luck  _had_  been on her side this evening after all, and if she didn’t muck this up it might very well continue. “If you’re not busy, I was thinking we could get dinner. Together. Somewhere else. Somewhere…” she trailed off, eyeing the snooty waitress as she served another table. “Somewhere not nice,” she said with a quiet laugh.

“Oh,” he breathed, eyes widening. “Uh, yeah, right, that sounds - good. But....” Fitz paused and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I think they might throw things at us if we leave without ordering anything.” Her face fell; he was right, but she  _really_  didn’t want to stay here any longer. “If we buy a bottle of wine, we’d only need to have, I dunno, a glass each, and then we could take it with us. That should be enough of a bill, and shouldn’t take too long. And, uhm,” he cleared his throat. “My flat's not that far... we could grab food on the way, and finish the wine together.” A distinct flush rose up the back of his neck. “I don’t mean a-anything... um, y’know, by inviting you to my place. You said somewhere not nice, and I can assure you that my flat is  _very_  not nice. Lots of laundry on the floor and everything.” He grimaced at himself, and she withheld a giggle at his endearing awkwardness.

“That sounds perfect,” she assured him with a smile, and he quickly waved over the waitress. Although she wasn’t going to be leaving with the person she’d set out to meet here, Jemma had the distinct impression that she’d seriously traded up.

Three hours later, Jemma was giving a lot of thought to forgoing her usual three date rule and full-out seducing Fitz tonight. They weren’t even on a first date, technically, since he’d just sat down at her table and rescued her from the horror of being escorted to the bar. But she’d had half a bottle of wine and two beers, she was currently straddling Fitz's lap on his hideously worn, plaid sofa, and the way his fingers reverently traced her spine even as he made her dizzy with deep, ardent kisses all made sex seem rather like the best idea she’d ever had.

Despite the horrifying amount of laundry on the floor of his apartment and the latent taste of lime and peanuts on his tongue, she was fairly sure this was also the best snog she’d had in years.  _Possibly ever_ , an enthusiastic little voice in the back of her head added as he gently pulled her bottom lip into his mouth. She wasn’t even sure how the snogging had happened. One second, they were arguing about whether dendrotoxins would be stable enough to use for medical purposes or if they’d be relegated to weaponry, and the next she’d captured his lips with her own. At some point, she’d found herself curled as much around him as possible, and eventually she’d realized that his hands were wandering into less PG territory and she’d grinned against the skin over his pulse point (where she’d been working up an impressive hickey).

And yet every time his hands made a pass down her back that just barely skimmed her arse, he’d move them away again, and she realized that if she wanted this to progress any further - and she still wasn’t sure if she did - then she’d have to make the next move. If she  _wanted_  to make the next move. As she was waffling inside her head about the benefits of delayed gratification when it came to starting a relationship (because no matter what happened tonight, she was certain that’s where she wanted this  _thing_  with Fitz to go), he pulled back from her mouth.

Gulping in air, it took him a couple of seconds to be able to speak. “You’re right about the versatility of the concept, but I’m still not sure it’s dependable enough to be used on a regular basis without hurting the patient.”

That was that. Jemma leaned forward again to nip at his bottom lip, sliding her tongue heatedly over his and delighting in the hitched groan this coaxed from his throat. As she reached around to slide his hand firmly over her arse, she reasoned with herself that anyone who could argue science with her while half-drunk and being distracted by her kisses had at least earned third base. For that matter, she’d had a completely horrid evening leading up to him spiriting the wine out of the bistro with her, and she decided that she deserved a reward, too. Either way, Leo Fitz wasn’t going to be getting rid of Jemma Simmons any time soon, and although neither of them had expected their night to end this way it was a safe bet that both of them were completely thrilled with the result.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Academy AU. Rated PG.
> 
> (They're about 16.)  
>    
>  [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/113831719293/number-one-d-leo-fitz-and-jemma-simmons-3)

Leopold Fitz had always been exceptionally bright; everyone had always said so and he’d always believed it. Until, that is, tonight, when he’d had the stupid idea that he could simply go to the Boiler Room and make friends. He’d been doing fairly well, actually, and had only corrected the older cadets a few times when they’d been wrong. But then one of the boys had brought up virginities and kissing, and they’d all zeroed in on the fact that he was not only younger than everyone else, but also looked it. Taunting had turned into dares, he’d made a rather exceptionally poor escape to get himself a (very illegal) beer, and now he was hiding around the other side of the bar and trying to figure out how to get out of the damned place without them seeing him. (He’d calculated that they’d all probably had so much to drink that if he avoided them tonight, they’d most likely have forgotten it by tomorrow. Hopefully.)

Swishing the last half of the beer in the bottle as he stared down at the floor, he watched a pair of lilac ballet flats make their way directly over to him. “Hi, Fitz.”

Unable to help the way his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline, he looked up to see Jemma Simmons standing in front of him, gripping an empty beer bottle with a determination he’d only ever seen her turn on microscopes and sample slides. After his having avoided her for so long, he still wasn’t used to the idea that she ever  _wanted_  to talk to him, even though they’d been successfully collaborating in chemistry lab for almost an entire semester by now.

“Hey, Simmons. What, um - how’re you doing?”

Once he’d given her a hesitant smile, a certain amount of tension seeped out of her shoulders and she dropped eagerly into the empty chair next to him. 

“Honestly, bored to tears. My roommate invited me to come here with her and her friends, but they’re all so insipid! It’s as if they don’t have anything better to do than talk about  _boys_.” She spat out the last word as if it was a swear, and Fitz wondered idly if she’d noticed that he was, in fact, one of said people.

Ignoring that thought, though, he chuckled and glanced down at his bottle. “Yeah, well, the boys aren’t much better. Kept trying to get me to talk about -” He paused, glancing briefly up at where she watched him, and made the snap decision to censor their actual language. “- When I last kissed someone. We’re attending one of the most prestigious scientific institutions in the world, you’d think they -”

“Could come up with better discussion topics,  _I know!_ ” They smiled at each other, and Fitz had the brief thought that he’d wished he’d tried talking to her earlier.

“So,” Simmons said, delicately placing her bottle on the table behind them, “was it a good story, at least? The last time you kissed someone.”

The flashing bar lights suddenly seemed like a godsend, because that way she was far less likely to see that his face had almost certainly just flushed bright red. “Uh, not exactly. Haven’t yet,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the bottle display above the bar. “And then they kept daring me to kiss someone before I left the Boiler Room, or they’d tie me to the flag pole.”

Her hands flew up to her neck and her eyes almost doubled in size, green bar lights flashing hypnotically over the golden brown of her irises. “Oh no, they wouldn’t do that! Would they?”

“Dunno.” He’d sort of resigned himself to this fate by this point, although he figured that since he was rather small and knew the back passages of the Academy fairly well he could probably hide from them for a few days.

“Well, that’s completely boorish. I’d normally suggest informing a superior, but I suspect that that would earn you no sympathy in their eyes.” She sighed, brows furrowing in thought, and he made a very good show of not smiling (otherwise he’d have to explain that he found the way her nose wrinkled utterly adorable, and that was an unacceptable outcome of him smiling). “We’re going to have to find a different solution, then. Do you like girls or boys?”

Fitz’s mouth dropped open and he blinked a few times, first halted by her use of the word “we” and then by the question itself. Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely sure about the answer to that, but he also couldn’t tell Simmons that the last time he’d been attracted to anyone was about two weeks ago when she had been talking to him about incorporating diagnostic tools into drone technology. In retrospect, he wasn’t certain whether he’d been attracted to the way she talked about their work or the way she’d leaned over to point something out to him. (Incidentally, he’d felt very badly about staring down her shirt, but also hadn’t been able to get the image of her teal bra out of his head for days.) And, well, tonight. He found himself feeling very attracted to her tonight, but he was choosing to attribute that to the half a beer he’d finished and not that he thought she looked very pretty with her hair falling in loose curls over her shoulders, rather than tied back as it usually was in the lab.

“Um, girls, I think.” 

Simmons brightened at that and nodded. “Oh! That makes this much easier, then. Can  _I_  kiss you?”

Fitz glanced down at the beer still in his hand and wondered briefly if one of the boys had slipped something into his drink, until he remembered that he’d gotten it directly from the bartender. It just seemed far too implausible that the girl he’d been fixated on since meeting her at orientation was offering to kiss him; being drugged or flat-out hallucinating made far more sense. But when he looked up again, Simmons was still sitting there and staring expectantly back at him, as if she knew he wasn’t going to say no. 

“Yeah - I think - that would be good.”

She nodded at him, somehow calming the nerves in his stomach with her smile, and then leaned in to press their mouths together. Unable to move any other part of his body, Fitz focused on brushing his lips against hers, timidly mimicking what he’d seen on TV a hundred times. As he thought about pulling away, not wanting to push his luck, Simmons’ hand slid up around his neck to hold him in place as she pressed in more firmly, angling their lips so they fit more closely together. His head was spinning when she finally pulled away, his throat completely dry and nervous excitement ringing through his veins. 

“Okay,” he said, and then abruptly wanted to smack himself. He wasn’t sure what you said after you kissed a girl (that you’ve belatedly realized you really,  _really_  like), but he was pretty sure it wasn’t that.

“There you go,” Simmons said, wetting her lips with her tongue and giving Fitz all kinds of interesting and completely inappropriate ideas. “You should go tell them.”

“Now?” 

She laughed quietly, and he glanced up from where he’d been staring at her mouth. “Sooner rather than later I think,” she replied, and gave him a light shove in the right direction, getting him to stand up. “But, um….” Trailing off, she looked almost shy, in a way that he couldn’t remember her ever seeming. (What reason would someone like Jemma Simmons have to be  _shy_?) “You should come back after. Because I thought - if you wanted to - we could do that again. Maybe. Or talk about our final project, either one.” The last few words were rushed, as if she was giving him an excuse to turn her down.

But Leopold Fitz had always been exceptionally bright, and he had absolutely no intention of turning down the offer to kiss a girl that he really, really liked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undefined mid-season 2 or future AU. Rated G.
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/113837191938/for-the-drabble-thing-skimmons-6)

As she watched Simmons pull out the ingredients for pancakes, Skye’s mouth twisted in amusement over the edge of her coffee mug. The biochemist was wearing pajama pants that were definitely one size too small, and a plaid, button-down shirt that Skye was pretty sure she’d seen Fitz wearing last week. Much to Skye's relief, the two of them had been on better terms recently, but this was a different level of reconciliation altogether.

“So,” Skye said nonchalantly, taking a sip of coffee, “how’d Fitz sleep?”

“Oh, fine,” Simmons answered absentmindedly, hunting for the flour. “He was still out when I got up, so I don’t -” She stopped mid-sentence, flushing a bright pink as Skye burst into giggles. “Oh no.”

“Holy shit, Simmons, that was too easy.”

Glancing around to make sure that they really were alone in the mess hall, Simmons’ discomfort was palpable - and adorable. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

Skye raised an eyebrow. “ _It_  wasn’t…”

“No,” Simmons squeaked, shuffling hurriedly closer, “that’s not what I meant! Telling  _you_ wasn’t supposed to happen.” She sighed and stared down at her hands. “Telling anyone. We haven’t even talked about that, yet. Telling, I mean. Please, Skye,” she pleaded, reaching out to grab onto Skye’s wrist. “Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to scare him off.”

Unable to help the way her face softened, Skye stuck out her tongue. “But knowing good secrets is no  _fun_  if you can’t tell anyone. And Mack owes me ten bucks.” As Simmons opened her mouth, Skye grinned and waved her off. “Of  _course_  I won’t tell anyone, you goober.”

Simmons practically melted in relief, and gave Skye’s arm a quick squeeze before she turned back to pancake-making. “Thank you.”

Following her friend to the counter, Skye leaned against the cabinets to watch her work, noting how relaxed she seemed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Simmons move this way before, as if she didn’t have one iota of tension in her body. A part of her wanted to reach out to give her friend a hug, but then again - maybe later, once she’d showered. 

“So, you wanna talk about it?”

Simmons reached for a wooden spoon, reddening again over her mixing bowl. “Not especially.” When Skye made a loud noise of disappointment, Simmons laughed. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay,” Skye sighed, trying to bury her curiosity. “Can you at least tell me how it was?”

The way Simmons sucked in a breath and her hand faltered over her next stir told Skye pretty much everything she needed to know. But Simmons looked up at her anyway, eyes shining in the dim fluorescents of the mess hall. “Good,” she breathed, her wide smile almost distracting Skye from seeing Fitz enter the mess hall. Wearing pajamas suspiciously similar to the ones Simmons now wore and clutching a small post-it note, he was just within hearing distance as Simmons finished: “Oh, Skye, it was  _really_  good.”

Holding back a grin, Skye pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded her head behind Simmons, who spun rapidly around. When she saw Fitz, she let out a small “ _oh!_ ” and froze. He didn’t seem at all aware of her surprise, however, or that Skye was even in the room, as he had eyes only for Simmons.

“Morning, Jemma,” he said over a warm smile, scratching one hand through his rumpled bed-hair. 

“Morning,” she whispered in return, taking a few small, halting steps towards him. 

Feeling rather like a third wheel for the first time (of hopefully many more), Skye snagged her coffee mug and backed quietly out of the mess hall. The last thing she heard before she rounded the corner was Simmons giggling, a sound she hoped she’d hear a lot more often now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undefined mid-season 2 or future AU, early established relationship. Rated G.
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/110790087958/for-the-two-characters-number-fitzsimmons-16)

Unable to stop herself from laughing, Jemma pulled her knees up to her chest as she watched Fitz pace up and down the length of her bed. 

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“Yes, Fitz, I’m absolutely certain.”

“And you -”

“I did a pregnancy test. Or five.”

He raised his eyes to her at that, blue eyes so wide that she giggled again, patting the mattress next to her. With an amusingly dramatic sigh, he climbed over to her and wrapped her left arm in both of his.

“You’re definitely sure?”

She sighed. “I’m definitely sure.”

“Really really?”

“Fitz.”

“I know, I just -”

“I’m not pregnant,” she said as firmly as possible, keeping eye contact until he dropped forward, leaning his forehead on her knee. 

“It’s just - such a bloody relief.”

Jemma began smoothing her fingers through his curls and he turned his face towards her, a small hum making its way out of his throat. “Says the man who wouldn’t have to actually  _be_  pregnant.”

He opened his eyes as a light flush bloomed on his cheeks. “I know. And it’s not that - maybe - one day….” Fitz trailed off again at her raised eyebrow and cleared his throat. A bolt of surprised warmth shot through her stomach at the expression on his face, sort of shy and promising and awkward all at once. They hadn't been together nearly long enough to have that kind of conversation, but knowing that the idea of something so permanent between them was already in his head made Jemma feel a renewed burst of affection for her best friend - now, her boyfriend. “We haven’t even told the team about… this. Us, yet, for God’s sake. It’s not the time.” His hand slid around up the back of her cardigan, snugging himself closer in. 

“I know. I’m relieved, too,” she murmured, watching the way the desk lamp shone in his eyes as he tried to keep them open, head tilting instinctively into where she was still playing with his hair. “Never thought you’d much like being petted, Fitz.”

He made an indistinct noise of either consternation or enjoyment; she couldn’t quite tell which since his eyes had officially slipped closed. “Feels nice.”

Leaning forward to nuzzle his nose, Jemma smiled. “If you wake up, we can do a very different, very fun kind of petting….”

His eyes snapped open and the statement hung in the air for a few moments before he toppled her eagerly back onto the bed. This resulted in her laughing so hard that he had to kiss her into silence - which, really, seemed only fair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undefined future AU, early established relationship. Rated T (for implied nudity).
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/113985557213/leo-fitz-jemma-simmons-14)

For once, Jemma didn’t actually  _want_  to be an early riser. Fitz’s bed was warm and him even more so, with his arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders and one leg tangled between her two. But as she usually did, Jemma had woken up at 6 AM on the dot, and was now faced with the fact that she probably had only another half an hour or so before she needed to get up. Half-wanting to go back to sleep, she snuggled in closer, hiding her face in his neck and curling her arm more securely around his torso. 

“Morning,” came a sleepy mutter from above, and she tilted her head back to meet Fitz’s gaze. His eyes were barely focused, their pale blue only just visible in the dim room, but when she looked up a warm smile spread across his face anyway. Something in Jemma’s stomach fluttered, and she had to remind herself to breathe and smile back.

“Morning.” Heedless of morning breath, he leaned down as she stretched up and they met in the middle, lips sliding gently together. A contented hum made its way out of her throat and she could feel his mouth curve up against hers. 

It had been nine days since their first time together, six weeks since their first kiss, and a year almost to the day since Fitz had awoken from his coma without recognizing her. Jemma thought that the parallel of nine days seemed fitting, and, although waking up on that morning had been far more important, every morning they spent together still felt momentous. 

When he finally broke the kiss Jemma didn’t let him get far, sweeping her thumb over his stubble as she caressed his jaw. Fortunately, he didn’t seem in any hurry to move away, choosing instead to lie back and smooth careful circles over her shoulders. 

“It doesn’t seem real, does it?” Her voice was barely a whisper, not wanting to break the peaceful spell that hovered over them. But Fitz stiffened at her words, his hand halting its movement as he dropped his gaze. “What?” When he didn’t answer, still avoiding her eyes, she raised up on her left elbow to peer at his face more carefully. “Fitz, what’s wrong? What did I say?” They hadn’t quite been together long enough for her worry that he would withdraw again to have fully faded, and she was terrified she’d push him away without realizing it.

Hearing the undertone of panic to her voice, he glanced back at her. “I - um, I don’t like to joke about things not being real,” he said, clearing his throat. “Or, I mean, not joke, I guess, but - make it seem small? I dunno.” Jemma frowned, unsure of how to respond; her comment had seemed innocuous and flattering in her head before she’d said it. His eyes searched hers for understanding, and, finding none, he sighed. “I - when you were gone, I started… seeing things, I guess. Or, not things, but - a person. A hallucination. Took me a while to know what was real and what wasn’t.” He set his mouth in a firm line and looked away from her again, clearly having not wanted to say anything.

Cold slithered through her chest and the breath went out of her lungs. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but all she could think about was that he hadn’t said anything until now. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, sitting up and self-consciously pulling the sheet around her bare torso. “I didn’t know.” His brows knotted at her movement, but he just shrugged in response, turning to stare up at the ceiling. “Why didn’t you tell me?” A part of her wanted to be furious with him, as both his best friend and his doctor, for keeping something so important from her. But the part of her that had been so blissfully happy only a few moments ago couldn’t stand the idea of fighting at all, so she kept her tone measured - and maybe a little sad.

“Didn’t want you to feel sorry for me,” he muttered, his jaw clenching in the ensuing silence. 

Terrified to feel that chasm work its way between them again, Jemma reached over to thread her fingers between his, not moving closer but also not letting him forget that she was here. Fitz stared down at their hands, and her chest loosened when he squeezed back and brought her hand up so he could press his lips to her skin. 

“I’m going to….” She interrupted herself with a sigh, tilting her mouth into an apologetic smile. “I’m going to have to run some tests on you later, now that I know. To make sure you’re okay.”

His mouth gave a little twist, but he nodded, the pale stubble on his cheeks catching light from the crack under the door. “Alright.”

“And I have about a million questions -”

“Thought you might,” he teased, his eyes a little wary but his tone fond. 

“I don’t want to ask them now, though.”

His eyebrows raised at that, continuing to rub his thumb lightly over her knuckles. “You don’t?”

Caught in her half-lie, she chuckled, scooting a little closer in. “Well, I  _want_  to, but I don’t want to. Actually - can I ask one?”

Fitz grinned, shifting partly onto his side so he could see her more easily. “That was one.” 

Letting out a quiet  _tsk_ , Jemma leaned forward to swat at his chest, but he caught her hand before it made contact and pulled her forward so that she toppled onto him. As he wound his arms around her lower back, she laughed, getting in her light swat but also arranging herself more comfortably against him. Once they were both settled, she leaned up for better eye contact. “You said it was a person, not ‘things.’ Who was it? Your hallucination?” 

His breath caught and he immediately looked away, and although it was hard to tell in the dim room, she thought he was blushing. After she gave him a few moments, she leaned in, concern etched into her frown. “Was it Ward?”

“What?!” Fitz’s voice was high-pitched and incredulous, but at least he turned back to meet her gaze. “No, I wasn’t hallucinating bloody  _Ward_ , Jesus, Jemma -”

“I - I’m sorry,” she stuttered, surprised by the virulence of his answer (especially because she’d thought it was a reasonable guess - who better to haunt you than the man who tried to kill you? She’d had more than one nightmare about Ward herself since that day in the pod). “I thought maybe -”

“It was you.” The words hung between them, and something hard clenched within Jemma’s chest. “I - I missed you, and I needed help, so….”

She had no idea how to react to that information. Should she be worried that he’d clung so tightly to her memory? Saddened that her departure had caused him that level of misery? Furious at Ward for doing this to him in the first place? Without any ideas and already blinking back tears, she started to pull away from his embrace, but his arms only closed more tightly around her.

“Please don’t go,” Fitz said, voice hoarse and quiet as he clutched her to his chest. “Please stay. We can talk about it - you can ask your questions, and I promise I’ll let you poke and prod me as long as you want. I  _promise_. Just don’t leave. Please, Jemma.”

If she weren’t already half in love with him, the way he stared down at her now would have pushed her into it, his expression open, tentative, and bordering on terrified. Her stomach gave a little lurch at the idea of being separated from him again, especially after all they’d shared in the last nine days, and she exhaled. This was another hurdle for them to overcome, and doing so would probably take a lot of painful conversations and perhaps some uncomfortable revelations. But they were both different than they had been a few months ago, and the kind of relationship that they’d started the first night she’d invited him into her bed required a lot more maintenance than that of a simple best friendship. Deep down, Jemma knew that she’d do anything she had to now to be able to keep this new version of her relationship with Fitz - she just needed some processing time.

“No,” she whispered, “I don’t want to talk about it now.” His whole face crumbled, as if he was at the edge of an implosion, and she raised a hand to his cheek before continuing. “I want you to kiss me. And then I want to get up and go to work, and, when we have time, I want to give you a full neurological exam. And then I want to have dinner with you, alone, and then I want to take you to bed. We can talk about it in a few days. Just not right now.”

His eyes searched hers for a few moments after she finished speaking, as if he was fully processing what she’d said, and then he curled abruptly forward and buried his face in her hair, hands holding her so tightly she was half worried he’d leave bruises. But he shifted quickly out of that position, taking shallow, calming breaths until he could bring himself to meet her eyes again. When he looked like he was going to speak, Jemma had the belated realization that there was something she should probably say, so she spoke over him.

“I’m not leaving again, Fitz. Not now, not ever.”

He’d stopped halfway through a word, and a smile broke over his face, eyes bright even in the darkness. “I - okay. Yeah, good.”

Some of the tension drained from her muscles as she felt him relax underneath her, and she stretched up to press her mouth to his before her brain tried to work through the information she’d just learned. Almost nothing came as easily to her these days as kissing Fitz, her nerves melting away under the slide of his lips and the brush of his fingertips over her jaw. 

They still had a lot of work to do, both within SHIELD and for themselves, but for the moment Jemma was lying across her favorite person in the whole world, learning bit by bit that creating something new between them could be pretty damn wonderful.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undefined future AU, established relationship. Rated hard T (nudity & discussions of sex).
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/123325150503/for-the-drabble-35-and-of-course-fitzsimmons)

Some days, working at SHIELD felt like one of those frenetic dreams where everything happened almost too fast but every second felt worth it, and the chaos simply pushed a person to greater heights of achievement and excitement.

Other days, however, it was simply exhausting. Jemma had barely slept the night before, since she’d been dragged into a particularly complicated surgery on a spec-ops agent just when the lab was closing, and she knew that Fitz hadn’t fared better. The director was pressuring him to finish mods on the Bus Mach II as soon as possible, and when she’d stumbled into the residential hallway in the wee hours of the morning he was only just unlocking his own bunk. Luckily, they were both able to complete today’s duties at about the same time, and after dinner they’d curled up on Fitz’s bed to enjoy a quiet evening together. 

After finishing the article she’d been reading, however, Jemma was feeling… somewhat more energetic than she had earlier. 

Scooting over and curling around Fitz told her immediately that he was on an entirely different planet than her, because all he did was hum contentedly, wrap his arm around her shoulder, and then go back to reading. A part of her considered being blunt about what she was angling for - nine times out of ten, that was her  _modus operandi_ , after all. But after the stress of the past few days, she was feeling rather playful, and something she’d just read was on her mind. She could also tell that he wasn’t paying her any attention whatsoever, based on the lack of his reaction to her smoothing one hand down his chest to his bellybutton and back up again.

“Fitz?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you know that sleeping naked is good for you?”

“Uh-uh.”

He was definitely not paying attention. Snuggling in a little closer, she pressed a lingering kiss just beneath his jaw, noting the small shiver that sent through him, even though it wasn’t enough to get him to act on it. Six months ago, something as simple as her pointedly licking her lips would have sent him stumbling out of any room in a coughing fit. 

“A lower body temperature will encourage the release of hormones such as melatonin, and help to decrease the amount of cortisol. One theory even postulates that it can help to lower a person’s risk for diabetes.”

“Oh,” he said disinterestedly, flicking one finger across his tablet to turn the digital page.

“Which would be important for you, with your sweet tooth,” she teased, poking him in the ribs and grinning at his awkward jerk to get away from her assault.

“Don’t have a sweet tooth,” he mumbled, fingers clenching around her shoulder involuntarily. Yet, his eyes stayed glued to the tablet, and she narrowed her own. He must have found a new article about one of Stark’s inventions, because Fitz was almost never distracted enough to ignore her for this long. 

“It’s also been found to increase fertility in men,” she added nonchalantly, sliding her hand down to rest over his belly. “And it’s been proven to increase levels of oxytocin in the body, which lowers blood pressure - and can improve people’s sexual responsiveness and orgasms.” 

Leaning back slightly, she kept her facial expression neutral as Fitz blinked, lifted his head straight up, as if he was replaying what she’d said, and then turned to stare down at her with his brows furrowed. “Is this your way of trying to get me naked?” Jemma groaned, and flopped onto her back on the mattress. “Because it’s working, but it’s not the most  _obvious_  come-on….”

“That’s it,” she snapped, shooting forward and turning to straddle his lap. “Take off your clothes.” 

He studied her face, eyes twinkling in amusement as he clicked the lock on the tablet. “So we’re going to sleep now, is that it?”

“You heard me, Fitz. Take them off.” Jemma felt a vein of deep satisfaction settle in the pit of her stomach as she heard his breath catch, avidly watching his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. It had been many months now since their first time together, when she’d discovered that her best-friend-turned-boyfriend had a special affinity for her bossier tendencies; considering his distraction this evening, the reminder of her continued effect on him was particularly pleasing. 

“Alright,” he rasped, reaching over to discard the tablet, “but you’ve gotta gimme room to get these off.” He tugged at his pajama trousers, and she grinned, leaning forward briefly to give him a slow, sensual kiss. Once she’d slid back along his side on the bed, he sat there for a few moments, clearing his throat and blinking before glancing at her and reaching for the hem of his shirt.

Her mind returned to wondering what he’d been so distracted by as her gaze landed on the tablet, and in the split-second that his shirt covered his face she darted forward to grab it off his desk. “Now what,” she started teasingly, “has my competition for your attention, hm? Normally the word ‘naked’ would have you halfway there already.”

In the middle of tossing his shirt away, Fitz spotted the tablet in her hand and reached for it. “Oh, no, nothing, I, um -”

Since she knew his password, she already had it unlocked by the time he grabbed for it and she held it away from him, nose wrinkling at what she saw. “Artistic applications for vibranium….”

Groaning, Fitz scrubbed his hands over his face, glancing up at her with a sigh. “This is what I get for thinking I could do research with you in the room.”

“Working with the rare metal, tool recommendations, technique….” Jemma looked up at him, completely perplexed. “Fitz, what on….” He raised both eyebrows, and she paused halfway through her question, mouth opening in a quiet “oh.”

“Figured it out, have you?”

“But - but….” Warmth spread through her cheeks, and she felt a niggle of guilt at ruining what was clearly meant to be a surprise. “The holidays aren’t for _months_  yet….”

“I have to actually decide on a design and  _make_  the thing, you know,” he pointed out, gently removing the tablet from her hands and returning it to the table. “And it wasn’t going to be for the holidays.” 

“ _Oh_.” Suddenly, Jemma was having a rather difficult time breathing, but she sucked in a large amount of air as soon as she noticed the nervousness edging around his expression. Without thinking about it, she threw herself forward to wrap her arms around his neck, almost knocking them both off the bed in the process. Fitz managed to brace himself just in time, holding her tightly in return. A loaded silence descended between them, and as Jemma tried to decide between joyful tears or laughter he pressed a soft kiss against her temple. 

“Can’t be a surprise,” he murmured, rubbing one hand soothingly along her spine, and she let out something that was a cross between a giggle and sniffle. Although they hadn’t discussed the status of their relationship, he was right that she just sort of… knew. Skye would credit their “psychic link,” but Jemma rather thought it was more because of the solidity of their relationship; neither of them had any doubts about the other any more, and they both knew it. Marriage had been the inevitable next step for some time now, but even so the whole thing had caught her off-guard.

“Not exactly,” she answered. “It’s just - I’m just - you’re….” She exhaled roughly, frustrated with her own inability to articulate her feelings. Once she lifted her head up to meet his eyes, a wash of calm came over her at the sight of the openly affectionate (if slightly concerned) look on his face. “I’m just happy, Fitz.” A breathless laugh burst out of her, and she reached up to caress his jaw. “You make me happy.”

Tension dissipated instantly from his shoulders, and he smiled widely, leaning down to nuzzle at her nose. “Hopefully at least a fraction of how happy you make me.” They stayed curled together like that for a few, long moments, each studying the other’s expression of excitement as if trying to memorize it. But eventually, Jemma’s smile became somewhat more mischievous and she leaned in to nip at his full lower lip.

“You still seem to be clothed, you know.”

A loud laugh burst out of him, rumbling from his bare chest through her tank top, and he let go of her so she could give him enough room to stand. “Sorry - someone was being nosy about my tablet, so I got distracted.”

“That’s alright,” Jemma said, a pleased sigh escaping her lips as she admired his newly bared bum. “We’ll find a way for you to make it up to me.”

“Oh  _really_.” Fitz kicked his pajamas and boxers away, then propped his hands on his hips. “And, y’know, you’re still fully clothed. This is plain unfair.”

Glancing down at her threadbare tank and pajama shorts, Jemma frowned and gave him a faux-rueful nod. “You’re absolutely right. I suppose you’ll have to do something about that.”

The grin he gave her then made her stomach swoop, although the feeling was quickly replaced by him tackling her backwards on the narrow bed. Their laughter was loud enough to echo in the small room, and it took him a good few tries to wrestle the shirt off her. Before he could work on her shorts and pants though, Jemma caught his face in her hands and gave him a gentle, affectionate kiss. It was slightly awkward at first, as he had to shift a bit to brace his weight above her, but once he realized what she was after he eagerly followed her lead.

“Love you,” she murmured, pressing their foreheads together.

“So much.” Fitz smiled again, brushing his fingers along her hairline, although he let out a thoughtful noise just a second later. “Increased sexual responsiveness and orgasms - does that mean we should wait until after we’ve slept naked…?” 

She gave his side a playful smack, and pushed him over so that she was on top. “We’ll need a control experiment first.”

“But what about all the other times we’ve slept without -”

“We weren’t paying  _attention_  then,” she reasoned, and he grinned.

“Oh, right,” he said sagely, sliding his hands down to the hem of her pajamas. “Better get stared on that control, then.” 

Humming in agreement, Jemma leaned in for another kiss, content to be distracted again for a few moments - and to make him work a little to get her naked. After all, they had the rest of the night, and none of it would involve clothes at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T. Future AU, established relationship.  
> I saw [this amazing art](http://kelslk-art.tumblr.com/post/125305776419/commission-for-englishsandwich-she-wanted-some) and couldn't get it out of my head! A huge thank you to [kelslk-art](http://kelslk-art.tumblr.com) for drawing it!
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/126036803343/a-fitzsimmons-drabble-inspired)   
> 

Even with Fitz taking up half of the Science Division’s operational duties (in practice, if not in name), Jemma had still been so busy during the past week that she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten a sit-down meal. Her own passion projects had fallen to the wayside with all of the SHIELD-dictated research that she was spearheading, and she wasn’t sure what she missed more: Sleep, or science undiluted by bureaucracy.

As she finished up notes on a report requested by Director Coulson, Jemma was holed up in a remote corner of the lab, hoping to avoid unnecessary interruptions. The other scientists (other than Fitz, naturally) had taken to seeking her approval for all manner of inane trivialities, and it was simply slowing her down – she’d have to draft a memo about that soon. Until then, she was hiding with her tablet away from prying eyes, leaning back against an unused steel table and trying to look unavailable.

“There you are,” came a familiar Scottish voice, tone soft under the bustle of the rest of the base. “Been looking for you for ten minutes.”

Jemma exhaled into a smile, unable to help the way she instinctively leaned into the hand Fitz smoothed along her arm, and tried to stay focused on the tablet screen. Then he pressed a tender kiss to her temple and she let her eyes slip shut, giving herself five whole seconds to enjoy his presence.

Of course, science wasn’t the only thing that had fallen to the wayside recently.

They’d been officially dating for a month now, taking things slowly and following a more traditional route that seemed to suit Fitz (which Jemma found achingly adorable). Although both of them were exceedingly happy with the way their budding relationship was progressing (at least, she was, and she thought she was reading him correctly), they were only able to explore the newer, romantic parts of their relationship in fits and starts. Work kept them both too busy to do much other than go on a few dates and sneak a few kisses here and there, and the past week’s busyness meant that they hadn’t even managed that much.

Pulling herself back to the task at hand, Jemma tilted her head just enough to brush her lips quickly against his jaw before returning her gaze to her tablet. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to finish this up. Why were you looking for me?”

He was silent for a few moments, and then Jemma let out a strangled little squawk as his fingers dug into her waist and he lifted her up onto the table. “Fitz! What -?”

“Missed you,” he murmured as she met his eyes, her own gaze softening as he brushed hair away from her face. Shifting so that her knees were loosely bracketing his hips rather than shoved awkwardly to one side, she let out a small sigh, resting one hand on his wrist.

“I’ve just – the Director….” She trailed off as she studied the familiar blue of his eyes, a lapis ring around the lighter shades, and made a snap decision to indulge herself. (Just this once, she promised herself, although she suspected that when it came to Fitz she’d be increasingly hard-pressed to resist him.) The fact that he’d also initiated this made her extremely wary of doing anything that could be misinterpreted as rejection; he’d been getting better about accepting her (fairly significant) interest in this type of relationship with him, but it was rare for him to instigate much other than holding hands. Besides, something tingled pleasantly in her stomach at the way he’d lifted her up onto the table, and perhaps if she encouraged him this time he’d do it again in the future. (The possibilities for excitement with a confident Fitz were nearly endless… if she could coax him out.)

“Give me one second,” she said with a brief smile, and ducked her head to continue rapid-fire tapping at the touch screen, holding it between them.

Making a hum of acknowledgement, he leaned forward against the table beneath her, one hand resting just above her knee. A minute passed. Then another. His feet shifted from side to side, denim scraping loudly in the relatively quiet corner. Three minutes passed, and Fitz sighed. Jemma held up a finger, and his grip shifted against her leg.

After a couple more minutes, she could see him shake his head slightly in her peripheral vision, but before he could extricate himself she locked her ankles behind his bum. Fitz let out a small noise of indignation, both of his hands wrapping around her calves as he tried futilely to free himself. “Jemma, it’s fine –”

“I’m almost done –”

“You’re busy, I know, I shouldn't’ve –”

“I want you here, Fitz!” She glanced up, feeling warmth rise to her cheeks at the fond exasperation written on his face, and he reached up to tuck loose hair behind her ear.

“I know, Jemma, you’re just busy –”

“But I  _want_  to make time for you,” she interrupted firmly, pressing the backs of her feet together more firmly to make sure he couldn’t escape. “And I’m almost….” She made a few more pointed taps, released a victorious noise, and plopped the tablet noisily down next to her on the steel. “There! If Coulson wants a more detailed report than that, he can come request it himself.” Fitz raised an eyebrow, watching the aquamarine progress bar on the screen, and she poked his chest lightly to bring his gaze back to her. “What?”

“I just…” he chuckled, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Not sure I’ve ever seen you half-ass something before.”

Blushing, she scooted forward on the table and fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt. “We’re all trying new things these days,” she teased, letting her eyes drift down to his lips. “So, go back to what you were going to do if I didn’t have that bloody report to finish.” He gave her another droll look, and she rolled her eyes before tugging on his shirt. “Go on.”

When he shook his head and let out a brief laugh, her breath caught in her throat at the adoration in his expression as he met her eyes. Jemma was struck again by how naïve she’d been in not recognizing the truth of either of their feelings for so long, but then Fitz leaned forward to nuzzle at her nose and the vaguely melancholic thought was swept right out of her head. He kept eye contact only briefly, his nose brushing against hers and his breath fanning her lips. Her tongue darted out to wet them, and he dropped his gaze, tilting his head to barely ghost his lips along hers before drawing away again. A zing of excitement went through her at the contact, and it felt like she was hyperaware of every movement in their private corner of the new lab, his hands warm and fingers tightening as they inched higher up on her denim-clad thighs.

Not even a second passed before he leaned in again, caressing her lips with his own and then pulling back, and they fell into a rhythm of butterfly kisses so tender that they made Jemma ache for more. Her eyes fluttered open to find his half-lidded gaze on her, and when he let his tongue brush against hers a shiver worked through her whole body at the heady combination of sight and touch. If this was what Fitz was like when he initiated kisses, she’d really have to encourage it more often. A part of her was tempted to press herself against him and heat things up, but most of her was in complete thrall of the slowly fanned flames curling through her at every barely-there touch. His fingers flexed against her upper thighs as he supported more of his weight, and she found her fingers trailing up his neck as if to keep him where she wanted. She slid the pads of her two forefingers over the stubble of his jaw, enjoying the roughness in contrast to the softness of his lips, eliciting a small shiver before he pulled away. Lightheaded and acting on pure instinct, she leaned up to ghost her lips against his again, drawing him forward with her fingers and pressing in for one last sweep of her tongue over his.

Although the kisses had been gentle, when they separated they were both breathing somewhat raggedly, Fitz’s eyes dark and unfocused as he stared down at her. Leaning down to press their foreheads together, he inhaled and curled one hand around the back of her neck. A dozen complimentary things flitted through her head, but Fitz swallowed, and she chose to wait for him to go first, a dazed smile working onto her face as she peered up at him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes drifting back to her lips. Her eyebrow arched, and he seemed to realize all of a sudden that he’d spoken out loud. “I – I mean, um, we’re barely touching, and… that….” His ears flushed pink, and he pulled back to finish stammering his way through an explanation. “That was – really – um, it was a good ‘fuck,’” he added, and then his cheeks turned bright red and he stopped talking altogether.

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma laughed, smoothing one hand up his chest and trying to sound sultry rather than smug. “When we get to that, it’ll be a  _great_  fuck.” Reaching one hand up to pull him forward by his open collar and return his lips to hers, she gave him a full kiss then, the kind that had him groaning into her mouth with the first heated slide of her tongue. But before they could get carried away, she pushed gently against him so there was enough space for her to slip off the table, grabbing her tablet as she returned to work.

Unable to resist seeing the result of her handiwork, however, Jemma turned before she rounded the crowded shelves that separated this corner from the rest. Fitz was standing stock-still where she’d left him, head tilted to the side and shoulders lifting sharply as he inhaled. After a moment – during which she successfully managed to not giggle audibly – he straightened and walked stiffly in the other direction, adjusting his trousers and bumping slightly into another table as he went.

A wide grin spread across her face as she turned and headed back to her workstation, the taste of him still lingering on her tongue. Even if Jemma wanted to encourage Fitz to incite more romantic interludes in the future, she’d just decided that she rather liked having the last word. It wasn’t often that Leopold Fitz was stunned into complete silence, and she had every intention of finding as many ways to do that as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Future AU.
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/123077698118/fitzsimmons-32)

Being in the Kree stone was weird, to say the least. Time was both going forward and backward, and because the thing had absorbed her entirely it had access to all her thoughts and memories. It scanned through her whole life, bringing up images that Jemma couldn’t even remember on her own: Her mother’s smiling face as she bent over to feed her stewed carrots, the first time she noticed that someone in her kindergarten class had blue eyes, a brightly-colored book on Christmas morning that held no interest for her. But then the stone fixated on one thought, and replayed it over and over again. 

 _I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified_.

She’d thought the words as she watched Fitz pack his gear for the mission to the ship, that and a dozen other things that she couldn’t quite pin down because they were spinning through her head far too quickly for her to settle on just one. The Kree stone didn’t explain things to her - it didn’t have a voice of its own - so it just played that same thought repeatedly, her own, inner voice echoing weirdly in the nothingness of her incorporeal body over that same image: A few seconds of Fitz staring back at her with guarded disbelief etched on his face. 

When she was dragged out of the stone by Skye, who - it would later be explained - had used her powers to vibrate the stone apart to get to Jemma, that was the only thing she would remember about being trapped. Although Coulson asked, she couldn’t look him in the face and explain that she’d been thinking of the moment that he had interrupted, so instead the Director sat her down with Dr. Garner. They’d talked for hours, she and him, although he was silent for most of it. He let her go on and on, explaining how she hadn’t known until it hit her in the middle of watching Bobbi and Hunter, and that she wasn’t at all prepared for the strength of those feelings. Of that condensed sense of aching that would settle in her chest until she could find and tell him. At one time, she’d thought that things would never change between her and Fitz, and when she said that Dr. Garner had just smiled. 

“I’m in love with you, and I was terrified.”

This was the first thing Jemma said to Fitz when she returned from the Kree stone. Technically, she’d said other things to him right afterwards, as he’d fretted over the doctors who checked her for signs of injury and illness, but it was the first thing that mattered.

His eyes widened and mouth dropped open, and if she wasn’t so nervous she would have laughed at the expression. Jemma didn’t know how long she’d been trapped - for some reason, she hadn’t thought to ask. But it had been long enough for her to realize that reliving that moment of terror - and experiencing a new kind of fear that she’d never gotten to tell him - was what had kept her connected to this life. When he didn’t answer, she twisted her hands together instinctively as she tried to explain in halting words the same things she’d said to the psychologist, tried to explain that remembering him was what had kept her sane. Before she could finish she was thwarted by another interruption, but this time it was in the form of him kissing her ardently, desperately, both of them acutely aware that they might never have gotten to do this. 

His hands tangled into her hair as he pressed kisses all over her face, mirroring a very different moment past, and whispered in between that he loved her back, that he didn’t know what he would do without her. For the first time in half an eternity or less than a second, Jemma smiled, and captured Fitz’s lips again with hers. 

Being in the Kree stone had been weird, but then again, so were most of the things and people that had brought them together.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Mid-Season 2 AU (canon-compliant through 2x10).
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/113849345293/for-the-meme-fitz-simmons-4)

Fitz stared blankly at Jemma, completely befuddled by her behavior both all day and just now, when she’d placed a cup of tea next to his work space and then smiled beatifically at him. Without blinking. For almost thirty whole seconds.

“Alright, I’m sorry, but - what the hell’s going on, Jemma?”

Moving her hand a little further from where it had been resting by his, she quickly hid her wince with a smile. “What do you mean?”

His mouth dropped open of its own accord. “You - you’ve been acting weird all day! I mean, you’ve been wandering around the garage, pretending that you’ve needed supplies that I’m pretty sure are already in the lab. And then every time I look at you, you’re smiling at me, or handing me something, or asking a question in this weird, soft voice, and….” He trailed off as he noticed her smile diminishing the longer he continued. 

“You didn’t, um, like that?” Her voice was small, and, to cement his confusion, she tucked a short strand of hair nervously behind one ear.

“Like  _what_? Being completely distracted from my work by you being - being - really confusing?” It hadn’t helped that every time he looked up she had somehow managed to stand at just the right angles for the light to highlight her best features. They were getting along fairly well and he was moving  _on_ ; he didn’t need her complicating things again.

Rather than give him the explanation he wanted, however, Jemma just closed her eyes and inhaled. “I’m flirting with you.”

Suddenly, it felt rather like everyone else on the base had disappeared, or taken a vow of silence, or gone on unannounced vacations, because there wasn't a single sound in the room between them for many long seconds. 

“What?”

Fitz had heard the words she said, but there was no universe in which her actions had any correlation to that description. When she peered up at him with those wide, brown eyes he’d once so adored, his stomach gave a little twist at the uncertainty and nervousness he saw reflected in her expression. 

“I - I was flirting with you. That’s, um, that’s what one does to show one’s interest, right? So that’s what I was doing. Keeping sustained eye contact, being generally accommodating, demonstrating what we have in common, showing off my figure and facial symmetry to their best advantage -”

“Stop - stop, Jemma,” Fitz interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefingers. Although a part of him wanted to laugh at the fact that she’d clearly researched flirting in preparation for whatever this was, she’d also provided him with a lot of information in a very short span of time and he needed to process what it meant. First, there was the statement that she  _had_  interest, which was difficult to believe (to say the least), and then there was the implication that she thought all he’d wanted was this superficial drivel. Even though they’d spent months readjusting to each other, and had had more than one large argument to truly clear up her sudden departure, this seemed to just prove all over again that she didn’t know him at all.

“Jemma, I don’t -  _didn’t_  feel that way because of your facial symmetry or - or whatever else you just said. I don’t care about that, about any of that. I feel- _felt_  like that because of  _you_. The real you, not whatever bizzaro version of you that you’ve been all day. I mean - who I thought was the real you.”

“Oh, Fitz, I  _want_  to be the real me!” She reached automatically for his arm and then flinched, shaking her head at herself. “I mean, that  _was_  the real me, who you knew, not today. But you’ve been so angry with me, and I know you said you’re not anymore but that’s clearly a lie -”

“I’m not  _angry_  -”

“So I thought maybe if I acted differently you’d see that I’m trying, and I’ve never known how to flirt, or do any of that sort of thing - I mean, you must have noticed how I’ve never really dated, I never knew how to talk to anyone as well as I knew how to talk to you, and we never talked about romantic things, and now I want to try riding the rollercoaster but I don’t bloody know how to get on!” If there was a record for speed-talking, Jemma would have won it right then. She stared up at him, out of breath, cheeks tinged pink, and mouth set in a thin, frustrated line, and Fitz wanted to kick himself for only thinking that she was so breathtakingly beautiful when she ranted like that. 

After a moment of trying (and failing) to grasp whatever she’d said about a rollercoaster, he shook his head and went back to something with which he knew he could disagree. “I’m not angry with you -”

“Yes, you are,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You still snap at me all the time, and -”

“I’m not angry, Jemma,” he snapped, “I’m still in lo- I still have feelings for you and it, um, it bloody hurts, okay?” Seeing the way she’d paled at his harsh reaction, Fitz tried softening his tone - he was tired of upsetting her, but she needed to hear this. Maybe then she’d stop messing around and let him be. “And I-I’m not perfect, I’m sorry, but, um, sometimes it’s hard to be around you.”

Jemma stared up at him, swallowing a couple times before she spoke. “But - Fitz. If… if you’re not angry, and you still have feelings for me,  _and I say I’m interested_  - I don’t understand what the problem is.”

He sighed. “But you’re not interested in that way -”

“Yes, I am -”

“No, you’re not, or you would’ve said something ages -”

“People change!” For the first time that he could remember since the pod, Jemma had shouted at him first. Not just raised her voice in exasperation, or snapped in frustrated - it was an honest-to-God shout, and Fitz was torn between being pleased and being slightly taken aback.

“You’ve been going on for months, Fitz, about how you’re different, how you’ve changed, how  _people_  change,” she continued at a more normal volume, looking around to see if they’d drawn any undesired attention. “Well, I’ve changed, too. And I want to try something we’ve never done before.” 

Without waiting for a response, she stepped forward, grabbed the lapels of his shirt, and tugged him forward until his lips met hers. It wasn’t a quiet kiss, or gentle, or any of the other things he’d imagined in his weakest hours, late at night on the Bus so many months ago. This first kiss was heated, and desperate, and almost angry, with Jemma leading and him just barely managing to keep up. He didn’t even have time to decide whether he wanted to kiss her back or not before she’d managed to part his mouth and slide her tongue over his lower lip, and a groan rumbled out of his throat. Jemma’s breath hitched at the sound but she didn’t stop, instead using one arm to pull him flush against her. Distracted from his confusion by this sudden, heady wave of wanting, his fingers fisted into her blouse and he walked her backwards a few steps so that he could press her against the wall table that used to hold her microscopes. Metal clanged dangerously against metal, her fingernails scraped against his skin, and keeping his lips moving in concert with hers became more important than breathing.

But something about the abrupt awareness of where they were, or maybe it was feeling every one of her curves molded to him, brought him out of his haze and he yanked himself back, stumbling a few steps away. Fitz stared at her, one hand covering his mouth - as if that would make it easier to understand what had just happened between them.

After taking a moment to adjust her blouse, Jemma just gave him a small smile. “It always was chemistry that brought us together, right?” Something unsure hovered behind her eyes, and her fingers curled in at her sides, as if she was holding herself back from reaching for him again.

Fitz didn’t know whether to laugh or storm out, but something about her hesitant half-smile convinced him to stay. Maybe that’s what they both needed to do for a little while longer - yell, be confused, and stay anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Academy through future. Written for the [FitzSimmons Appreciation Week](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/tagged/fitzsimmonsweek) prompt "Firsts ~~/Lasts~~."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/129222711379/first)

The first time Fitz saw Jemma Simmons, she was tiny and skinny (even more than he was, which was saying something), sitting two seats down from him at the Academy’s orientation program. He noted her youth and pinned-back hair with interest, and wondered if she might actually be younger than him. But then his eyes moved on, skimming over the rest of his classmates and wondering dully if anyone here would bother talking to him (like his classmates never had at home).

The first time Fitz saw Jemma Simmons smile, it was because she’d soundly trounced another cadet who’d gotten a basic SHIELD history question wrong at orientation, and he wondered what he’d have to say to get her to smile like that at him. (And preferably find a way to do it that didn’t involve his complete and utter humiliation.)

The first time Fitz knew he wanted to talk to Jemma Simmons, when he’d learned that she was a biochemistry genius and that she could teach him all manner of things, he decided that he couldn’t talk to her at all. If he said the wrong thing she would doubtlessly give him the brief, dismissive eyebrow raise he’d watched her give one classmate after another in the first days of term, and it would ruin his chance to make his first friend (with the first person who might actually be able to understand him). 

The first time Fitz knew he couldn’t leave Jemma Simmons was after they’d argued for hours about going into the field and failing their field tests, and she’d just walked tiredly out of their lab to get them more tea. He thought about the eagerness that had hovered behind her eyes when she’d tried to explain the wonders of a world neither of them had ever seen, and then about the idea of her wandering into a multitude of dangers unknown, and he was suddenly certain that he couldn’t let her go alone.

The first time Fitz saw Jemma Simmons die, his entire mind went as blank as the clouds into which she’d jumped. Nothing had ever mattered more than getting her back, or falling with her.

The first time Fitz realized that he loved Jemma Simmons, he hated himself. The SHIELD they’d known was crumbling around them, she was his best _friend_ , and nothing felt more wrong than caring only about her. She hadn’t truly smiled in days, skin even more pale in Providence’s artificial light, but all he wanted to do was keep watching her, because her presence alone made him feel like maybe there was still good out there somewhere.

The first time Fitz knew he had to leave Jemma Simmons was when there was only enough breath for her.

The first time Fitz hallucinated Jemma Simmons, he backed up so quickly into a wall that he banged his head against the bricks. (Because that’s  _just_  what he needed right then - another head injury.) But she looked real and sounded real, and his entire being felt like it had fallen apart but wasn’t being put back together, and so he breathed into a small smile. She didn’t want the tea he offered her, and he chalked it up to her having been awake at the crack of dawn yet again.

The first time Fitz didn’t understand Jemma Simmons, he retreated to his desk in the new lab and ignored the soothing murmurs of her imaginary counterpart. Literal comprehension wasn’t his problem these days, but piecing together the nuances of feeling (or the absence thereof) was still out of his reach.

The first time Fitz didn’t want to be around Jemma Simmons, he poured all of his energy into helping his friend - one of the few that he’d made other than her. If he was protecting Skye, then he wasn’t spinning his mental wheels over trying to reconcile his memory of the kind scientist he’d known for almost a decade and the frightened SHIELD scientist with whom he was now faced.

The first time Fitz truly forgave Jemma Simmons for abandoning him when he needed her most, he was pretending to fight with her in front of half a dozen of their former friends. Her eyes were wary, knowing he understood but hesitant to put the final touch on their deception, and so he risked a small nod. She could tell him to leave now, and he’d know that she’d far rather have him stay by her side. (The words still didn’t leave her mouth, but they played it off just as well without them.)

The first time Fitz realized he still loved Jemma Simmons and that it was okay she didn’t feel the same, he was busy chewing on a bite of mozzarella and prosciutto and almost didn’t notice.

The first time Jemma Simmons told Fitz that she felt the same, with hesitance in her voice and fear lurking behind her eyes, he realized that she didn’t know if he loved her back anymore.  _God_ , he did, he loved her more than living and science and knowledge all wrapped into one, tiny English package. But the words stuck in his throat in his surprise and he moved on instinct, halted only by the harsh intrusion of their responsibilities. When he got back, he promised himself as he shifted his knapsack higher on his shoulder, he’d tell her everything.

The first time Fitz asked Jemma Simmons out on a date, he was so nervous that he almost fell right over, and he pretended not to notice the laugh that she held back as she nodded him her  _yes, I’d love to_.

Although Fitz remembers every other first vividly - the first time Jemma Simmons kissed Fitz, he was halfway turned to go back to his bunk and her lips collided with his chin - in some ways the rest don’t matter as much. Because for him, every kiss is a first and every breath is a gift, and cataloguing each would take up too much of his ever-busy brain. So instead, acutely aware of all the times they might not have gotten, Leo Fitz lives every moment that he’s with Jemma Simmons as the first.

_(One night, curled up against his chest and tracing patterns across his skin, she whispers that she does the same.)_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG. Takes place sometime during season 2b. A St. Patrick's Day ficlet.
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/113926957483/number-five-please-jemma-simmons-drunk)

Fitz plopped onto the couch in the Playground rec room, grinning and feeling pleasantly buzzed. He’d been limiting his alcohol intake during his recovery so his tolerance was shot, but Skye had insisted that since today was St. Paddy’s Day they  _had_  to celebrate. (His mutters about being Scottish went largely unnoticed, and Hunter was perhaps even more enthusiastic about the party than the Americans.) Mack and Hunter had been regaling him with stories from the old days until about a minute ago, when Hunter had loudly announced that he had to hit the head and Mack had agreed to get the three of them refills. The rest of the agency was milling around the rec room and hallways, and more than a few drunken giggles were already echoing through the base. 

A warm body dropped unceremoniously across his lap, and Fitz threw his hands up and away from his attacker in surprise. 

“Hi Fitzy!” 

He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the sudden physical proximity of another person, or that it was  _Jemma._ (He’d briefly assumed that it was Skye, who had always been more physically affectionate than him, but he belatedly realized that she was laughing hysterically at something Bobbi was saying a few feet away.) As his heartbeat slowed to a normal rate, Fitz leaned back so that he could see Jemma’s face properly. She was lying face-up on the couch, propped up on her elbows, legs draped over his lap, and a bright smile spread across her face. They’d been making fits and starts of improvements - including one long, loud fight a few weeks ago - but they were months away from being this comfortable around each other. 

“Um, hi, Simmons,” he said, lowering his hands and unable to keep his face completely neutral. Jemma’s smile had always been infectious, and he was in a genuinely good mood, so he gave her a tentative smile back. Glancing away from her for a moment, he set his hands onto the couch cushions on either side of his hips, not wanting to just put them on her legs - even though she’d put them there. 

“I saw you sitting here by yourself and I thought you might like some company,” she said, words speeding together without her normal level of elocution. 

“Mack and Hunter’ll be right back.” Fitz answered without thinking, instinctively wanting her to know that he wasn’t just sitting alone at a party, but her face dropped and he realized how his comment might have sounded. “Don’t mind you joining, though,” he said, poking her lightly in the shin, and the smile she gave him could have lit up the whole room on its own.

“Oh  _good_!” She struggled to sit properly up, her equilibrium seeming more than a little off, so he offered her his hand. With a small noise of appreciation, she grabbed on and then shot forwards, wrapping her other arm around his shoulder. All of his muscles tensed at her closeness, but she didn’t notice at all, too busy rearranging herself so that she was more comfortably draped over him. “Thank you, Fitz, that’s much better.”

“No problem,” he managed to squeeze out, disconcerted by the way his voice had lowered and the fact her lavender-scented shampoo made him feel lightheaded. Or maybe it was the three beers. Perhaps he shouldn’t have jumped back into drinking so quickly. Fitz turned and found her studying him intently, eyes seemingly mapping out every dip and curve of his face. “What?”

“I quite like this look, you know,” Jemma answered, her voice a little too loud and cheeks flushed prettily in the dark lighting of the rec room. “It goes very well with your facial symmetry and rather nicely accentuates your jawline.” Her hand came up to gently pinch one cheek between her thumb and forefinger, and finally it clicked.

“Jemma,” he chuckled, “are you drunk?”

Releasing his cheek, she grinned back at him. “Skye dared me to do shots since she can’t drink while she’s learning to control her powers, and I told her I don’t like shots, but then she called me chicken so I did them. Bobbi said she was impressed, so it was worth it.” She finished with an accomplished nod, and he couldn’t stop the smile that twitched up his lips. And then she surprised him again by leaning forward and pressing one hand against his chest. “You called me Jemma.”

He blinked, certain that he’d been much better lately at reverting to “Simmons,” trying very hard to expunge the part of him that still wanted to feel like there could be anything other than a professional relationship between them. “I - sorry….”

“No,” she interrupted excitedly, the hand on his chest sliding up to his neck. “No, I like it when you call me Jemma. Makes me feel nice.”

She was close enough now that he could feel her breath on his skin, and he swallowed as he turned his head away. “Um, alright. Good. Or - yeah.”

“Fitz.” The questioning note to her voice brought his gaze reluctantly back to her, and he tried to convince his pulse not to speed up at the way she was staring at him. “I’m going to try something now, and I would appreciate it if you let me.” Then she pressed her lips halfway over his, landing partially on his stubble, and he instinctively turned to fit their lips properly together. 

Fitz realized he’d kissed her back after he’d already done it, the logical part of his brain reminding him that he was still angry with her and that he’d been doing somewhat well with that whole “moving on” thing. But Jemma slid her lips so gently over his that it made his chest ache, his good hand coming up to curl around the back of her neck and his other pulling her torso flush against his. Her tongue pressed tentatively against the seam of his lips and he parted them immediately, giving in to what his slightly-buzzed mind clearly wanted. The kiss was languid, exploratory, addictive, and if it weren’t for the tequila that he tasted on her tongue then he would have been content to stay there for hours.

The alcohol provided the sharp, bitter realization of why she was actually here, however, and he pulled sharply away, panting and unable to meet her eyes. “You’re drunk,” he muttered, already internally berating himself for getting lost in her so easily all over again.

“Not enough to forget  _that_ ,” Jemma breathed, the stunned note to her voice bringing his gaze back up. Her honey-brown eyes shone even though there was very little light over the sofa, and if he didn’t know better he would have said that she seemed dazed. “Not enough that I’d regret doing that, or that I’d be embarrassed about it.” She glanced down at where her hand rested against his chest. “I just, um, may have needed a little liquid courage to do it. And I’d like to do it again.” The second kiss was firmer, more searching, both hands clutching his neck as if he was her only anchor. 

There were a thousand things he still wanted to say to her, to ask her, to yell at her, to explain to her, but it was hard to remember them with her tongue sliding tantalizingly over his bottom lip and her breath hitching in the back of her throat. So Fitz gave in to Jemma, who tasted like tequila and soda, who smelled like disinfectant and lavender, who felt like home. Holding her tightly to himself, he ignored the others’ laughter as someone cheered drunkenly in the background about the luck of the Irish. He was still a bloody Scot, but he’d remind whoever it was about that later. For the moment, he was busy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated light T. Takes place sometime during season 2b.
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/114069727281/fitzsimmons-9)

For the first time in weeks, the whole team was hanging out at the Playground without a big mission or problem hanging over their heads. Skye was happily learning to use her gauntlets, Trip was getting the hang of being visible most of the time (and usually he only “forgot” when it could result in scaring the shit out of someone), and Hydra was - for the moment - dormant. Without much else going on, Bobbi and Skye had teamed up to organize a game night, even though both of them were currently kicking Hunter’s ass at round after round on the base’s Playstation. 

Jemma turned from watching Hunter give Skye a playful noogie back to the poker game she was playing with Fitz, May, Mack, and Trip, having just raised them all an obscene amount of money. Technically, the current round was between her, Fitz, and Trip, as both May and Mack had folded early and were chatting quietly while they watched the game proceed. 

After a few moments, Trip let out a heavy sigh and tossed his cards onto the table, flickering out of view for a moment in his annoyance. “Man, remind me to team up with you next time, Simmons. Four games and none of us have even gotten close.”

Shrugging, Jemma stretched her arms slowly up over her head. When she lowered them and leaned back into the table, she hid a smirk at the way Fitz turned his gaze abruptly away, as she was fairly certain he’d been staring at her breasts. “We got snowed in one year at the Academy,” she explained while Fitz debated his next move. “Cards were a passable way to spend the time.”

“Horseshit, Jemma,” Fitz muttered, staring hard at his hand - as if that would make his next move any clearer. “You learned by watching when your dad hosted poker games.” He glanced over at her, smiling but bemused. “Why would you even say that about the Academy? You spent two days kicking my ass.”

“I was  _trying_  not to make it seem like I had an unfair advantage,” she answered, smacking his arm. 

“Yeah,” Trip deadpanned. “‘Cause being a science whiz with two PhDs wouldn’t give you an unfair advantage at all.”

Scrunching her nose at Trip over her beer bottle, she turned back to nudging Fitz. “Alright, come on. Your cards aren’t going to change if you look at them long enough.” 

After a few more moments, he peered up over his cards to study her expression. At one point, he’d been excellent at calling her bluff, but she had a few extra weapons at her disposal these days. He narrowed his eyes, a rich lapis color in the darkness of the Playground, as she nibbled at her bottom lip and tilted her head into a smile. 

“Call.” Fitz slapped his cards down on the table and leaned forward expectantly. Having now seen his cards, Jemma did a fairly convincing ‘I’m impressed’ face - before flipping her cards over and revealing that she’d solidly, absolutely trounced him. 

May raised an eyebrow, and Mack and Trip let out a “holy shit” and “damn, girl,” respectively. Next to her, Fitz stared at the cards with his mouth open for a few, long seconds, before letting out an emphatic swear and pushing away from the table. 

Stretching her arms back and linking her fingers behind her head, Jemma grinned, watching Fitz return from the quick pace he’d done to the other side of the room. “You know,” she said as he approached her, “it’s okay to cry. That’s a fair bit of money.”

His mouth worked silently for a few moments, and then he snapped it shut. “I’m going to get my wallet,” he forced out from his clenched jaw, giving her a significant look before disappearing into the hallway. 

Trip whistled. “You know that you’re gonna need to make him pancakes to make up for that, right?”

“Wait, can you make us all pancakes?” Mack added, starting to tally up the poker chips left on the table while they waited for Fitz to return.

Jemma laughed and started organizing her chips into neat little towers. “Excuse me, I just kicked all your arses. Why am  _I_  the one who’s making anything?”

“Because they’re lazy as hell.” Everyone turned to May, who was calmly shuffling the deck. “And you make the best pancakes on the base.”

“Well,” Jemma said, smiling so broadly her cheeks almost hurt, “I think that compliment may have just made the whole night worth it.”

“Says the winner of almost every game,” Mack muttered, giving her a quick grin. “Gonna hit the head. Back in a few.” 

Nodding, Jemma followed the much-taller man up. “Me, too.” The others didn’t pay her much attention as she strode into the hallway in the opposite direction as Mack. Luckily, the nearest women’s restroom was along the correct route to her actual destination: The residential hallways. 

As she approached Fitz’s bunk, a sliver of excitement worked its way through her, settling very low in her abdomen. She gave the door two knocks and then turned around, fixing her hair and double-checking to make sure no one was in the hallway. A strong hand pulled her abruptly backwards into the room, slamming the door closed and pressing her against it without any preamble. The room was lit only by his bedside lamp, but she couldn’t have seen Fitz’s face anyway since he had gone right to drawing his lips heatedly along the tender skin of her neck, small nips and licks eliciting breathy whimpers from her very, very quickly.

They’d been doing this for weeks now, grabbing each other in dark corners and snogging until either they were interrupted or one of them needed to calm down. Jemma wasn’t really sure what they were to each other now, except that it had started after a long, screaming fight when they’d finally, seemingly, worked through the worst of their issues. What she did know is that she’d dressed tonight with the hope that maybe he would finally be ready to move past the snogging (which was fun, but there were other things that her fingers had been itching to try). To some degree, she was a little surprised he’d waited this long to make up an excuse to go back to his room - she’d spent a good part of the first three games stroking her hand along his upper thigh (when she was sure no one else would see her doing so, that is).

Threading her fingers into his hair, she redirected his lips to hers, their kisses hot and messy in a way she’d never realized Fitz could be. He slid his hands up underneath the back of her blouse, his fingers leaving trails of heat wherever he moved them, and she arched forward, wrapping one leg around his and silently urging him not to move away. Eventually though, Jemma needed air, so she reluctantly pulled away and dropped her head back against the door, grinning up at him. 

“Took you long enough,” he panted, fingers flexing against her bare back. “Been waiting here for ages.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, scratching her fingers through his hair. “I couldn’t leave  _right_  after you did, everyone would’ve known. They’ll probably be able to tell as it is, we’re not being especially subtle tonight.”

Frowning, Fitz pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he thought, and she tried to be very well behaved and not do the same, but with her teeth and his brightly-flushed lip. “Hmm. I guess we could go back….”

“No,” Jemma interrupted. “I have other plans for you and none of them involve returning to the others.”

Fitz’s eyes widened, pupils dilating just enough that she could tell he’d caught her meaning. “I - okay. We’ll get back to that, but - then they’ll  _know_.”

Having been just about to reach over and suck gently at his pulse point, Jemma paused and leaned back, dropping her gaze. “Does it bother you that much? That they’d know?” 

She couldn’t quite help the sadness lingering behind her words; she knew that a lot of her behavior in the past year had done serious damage to his estimation of her as a person, but she didn’t think she was worthy of shame or embarrassment. (Emotional difficulties aside, she was still, at the very least, a genius this side of model material.) 

“Hey, no, that’s not what I -” Fitz stopped himself and swallowed, tilting his head to search her eyes. “We agreed that it wasn’t the time, yeah? And we dunno what Coulson’s policy on Section 17 is, even if he _has_ removed agent levels.” He watched her nod, but when she didn’t meet his gaze head-on he sighed. “I’m mad about you, Jemma, you know that. Have been for ages. We haven’t really - I dunno what we’re doing now, or if you want….” Exhaling into a frustrated groan, he paused before trying again. “What I’m trying to say is that I wanna take this as far as you do, wherever that is. I dunno what it’ll mean for the team, but,” he said, inhaling into a bashful smile. “I’m ready to find out if you are.”

Warmth spread through her chest at his words, making her feel light enough that she could fly. The kiss Jemma gave him in answer was very different than the ones with which he’d greeted her earlier, a slow, gentle slide of her lips against his. Telling him how she felt had never been her strong suit, but she was getting much better at showing him. Their kiss didn’t stay slow for long, as Fitz seemed just as eager as she was to get back to where they’d been before. He let out a low groan as she sucked up a lovebite at the join of his neck and shoulder, arms curving more completely around her body. 

“So,” he murmured, voice hitching in reaction to her lips working over his skin, “what were those plans you were talking about?”

Jemma pushed against his chest, following him until his legs hit the bed frame and he collapsed onto the mattress in an adorably ungainly heap. His lack of grace didn’t seem to bother him, though, since he scrambled right back up to the edge of the bed to curl his fingers around her waist. She started flicking open the buttons of her blouse one by one, smiling at the way he stopped breathing as he watched her progress.

“Well, Agent Fitz, you’ll just have to wait and see.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Blind date, non-SHIELD AU.
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/119302825678/for-your-follow-celebration-prompt-thing)

Jemma Simmons may be a genius, but she had never been particularly good at dating, and right now she was mentally reviewing all the reasons why this was the case. In the forefront of her mind was the fact that all she wanted to do was talk about her current project at her job in the nation’s most prestigious biochemical laboratories, and her date was almost certainly  _not_  going to be interested in that discussion. Her roommate had assured her that this blind date was just perfect for her, and had even arranged for them to meet at an academia-themed cafe near the local university - but Jemma had her doubts. The simple fact of the matter was that almost no one in this city was even close to her intellectual equal, and although she was able to make do with friends who didn’t share her scientific interests, it just wasn’t the same with a significant other.

At the risk of looking desperate, she was trying not to stare at the door of the cafe, but was largely failing at that task since she had little else to occupy her. Tapping her wooden stirrer rapidly against the table, she squinted as someone with a familiar face walked through the entryway, although she couldn’t quite place where she knew him from. He had light sand-brown, curly hair, was a few inches taller than she, and was also likely in his mid-twenties. Following him with her eyes as he looked nervously around the crowded cafe, the different places from which she might recognize him scrolled through her head - but she came up empty at every option. Judging by his nerves, he was probably meeting a date here, too.  _Poor sod_ , she thought ruefully.  _Dating really isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be_. 

When he turned his eyes in her direction, however, Jemma quickly looked down at her phone, which had yet to go off with her blind date’s arrival.  _Perhaps he’s had to cancel_ , she thought rather too hopefully, tapping futilely on the home button to make sure that she hadn’t missed anything.

A distinctly Scottish accent interrupted her wishful thinking, however, completely derailing her tentative plan to just abandon the date entirely. “Um, hello? Are you….”

Jemma glanced up, eyes widening as she saw that the man with the curly hair was now standing next to her table. The tips of his ears were slightly pink, and he cleared his throat before he continued.

“Sorry to bother you, but are you maybe -“

“Meeting a blind date?” When he looked surprised at her interruption, she hurried to explain. “Sorry, I have a bad habit of finishing other peoples’ sentences. I was right, though, wasn’t I?”  

Recovering quickly, the man nodded with a bashful chuckle. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Giving him a bright smile, Jemma held out her hand. “Jemma Simmons. Sorry, I was waiting for your text.”

“Oh, yeah, well, I just saw you and thought I’d come over,” he said, giving her hand a firm shake and sitting down. “No point in waiting. I’m Fitz. Well, Leo Fitz, but no one calls me -”

“Oh, of  _course_! Leopold  _Fitz_!” Jemma couldn’t help her exclamation this time, his name having finally clarified where she’d recognized him from. “I  _knew_  you looked familiar! I attended your lecture on applications for the miniaturization of power sources in drones and therapeutic robotics last summer. It was quite brilliant, I must say, I can’t remember the last time I actually learned something at one of those - I meant to leave my card, but I was late for a meeting and didn’t have time. So, you prefer to be called Fitz? May I ask why?”

He stared at her with his mouth open for the entirety of her ramble, and she wondered briefly if maybe she’d been talking too quickly for him to understand. After a millisecond, though, he blinked and shook his head. “I - wow, yeah, I was not expecting my  _blind date_  to have seen me give one of my lectures, sorry.”

She ducked her head, glancing down at her half-empty teacup. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“It’s awesome,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t think that half the people who were there understood most of what I was talking about, and you actually  _remembered_  -“

“Oh, no,” she said earnestly. “I thought it was fascinating. My specialty is biochemistry, but I really believe that we would achieve far more if we worked more often with engineering experts and certainly with physicists, so I’m always looking for -“

“Biochemistry.” It was Fitz’s turn to interrupt her, and she ground to a bemused halt as he dug his phone out of his pocket. “Hold on.” After making a few pointed taps, he let out an incredulous laugh and then turned his phone screen towards her. “You’re not  _that_  Jemma Simmons, are you?”

On the phone was a paper that she’d had published last spring, and she couldn’t help the little thrill of pride that shot through her that this lecturer she’d found so brilliant was reading her work. “Guilty as charged.”

“You’re fantastic!” He was staring at her as if she’d just sprouted wings, and Jemma had the abrupt realization that his eyes were a rather enchanting shade of blue. “I mean, really bloody genius, I found your paper on toxins last week and have been reading everything else I could find online.“

“Oh!” Jemma knew she was smiling, but couldn’t quite think of what else to say to such effusive praise from a complete stranger. To be fair, she knew she was a genius, but most people didn’t tell her so with such endearing enthusiasm. And frankly, she simply wasn't used to praise from someone whose intellect likely matched her own. “Well, this really was felicitous.”

“Yeah,” Fitz chuckled, staring at her with an appreciative warmth that made a light flush bloom on her cheeks. “Look, I know I’ve only been here for, I dunno, five minutes, and that this is just supposed to be a coffee in case we can’t stand each other, but d’you want to get dinner tonight? Even if you’re not, ah, interested in… you know, anything else, and that’s fine, but I’d really like to -“

“I am.” The certainty of her voice surprised her, but, since Jemma generally trusted her instincts, she didn’t regret her outburst. “Interested, that is.”

“Oh,” Fitz breathed, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Right. Good. Me too.”

She realized then that her phone had buzzed a couple times while he was talking, and gave him an apologetic wince. “Just a sec,” she said, tapping open her lock screen.

 _sry I was late. traffic a nightmare! grabbing coffee. need anything?  
_ _have coffee heading to back. wearing red shirt when u arrive!_

Cold darted through her stomach as Jemma glanced up and confirmed that Fitz was not, in fact, wearing anything red. (In fact, he was wearing a sky blue button-down with a striped, navy tie, and it did wonders for highlighting his eyes. All of which she thought in half a second, and then wondered where on earth  _that_  had come from.)

“Oh dear,” she murmured, looking reluctantly up to meet Fitz’s gaze. “I’m afraid… I think there’s been a mistake. I’ve just received a text from my blind date….”

The excited smile he’d been wearing seconds before vanished, and he grabbed his own phone from the table. “ _Shite_ ,” he muttered, “I’ve got three from mine.” His cheeks flushed a bright pink and he shot up out of his chair. “I - I’m so sorry, it’s my fault, I just assumed -“

“Wait,” Jemma exclaimed, grabbing for his sleeve before he could escape. “Are we - are we still on for dinner tonight?” Dumbfounded, he stared down at her, and she gave him a hesitant smile. “I’d like to be. If you do.”

“Yeah!” His voice was rather loud in its relief, and he looked self-consciously around before lowering it. “I mean, yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Pushing her chair back, she gently prised his phone from his hand, as he was standing stock still, seemingly in shock. Once she’d sent herself a quick “hello” text from his number, she handed it back, opening the contacts app on her own phone to type in his name. “There. I’ve got a rather late meeting this afternoon, but I’ll let you know when I should be out.”

“Great,” he said, typing her own name into his phone. “When I get out of here, I’ll start working on options to run by you.“

“Oh, you know, you never answered my question.” He paused his typing to frown up at her, and she smiled for possibly the umpteenth time in twenty minutes. “Why you prefer Fitz.”

Making a derisive noise, he made a few last taps and dropped his phone into his pocket. “My mum called me by my first name when she was angry, so people using it always puts me on edge.”

She laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears. “That makes sense.” They stood there awkwardly for a few moments, with Jemma trying to come up with a good, normal way to end this serendipitous but definitely awkward half-first-date. “See you tonight, Fitz,” she landed on at last, stretching up to press a quick kiss to his cheek and then escaping before she could be embarrassed at her uncharacteristic flirting.

“You, too, Jemma,” he called after her, and she turned quickly back to where he half-raised a hand in farewell. Pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth, she grinned and ducked her head as she strode to the back of the cafe to look for someone with a red shirt. 

Although this afternoon hadn’t done anything to dispel the notion that she was rather terrible at dating, Jemma had stumbled into the most interesting person she could remember meeting in this city in years. Even if her  _real_  blind date turned out to be horrific now, at least she had a date with  _Leopold Fitz_  to look forward to tonight, and that could only mean that the overall result of today's blind date experiment had to be considered a success.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T. Princess Diaries-esque, role-reversal AU.
> 
>  
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/120053498338/my-entry-for-the-prompt-giveaway-follower)

Generally, illicit make-out sessions with a secret-boyfriend-slash-best-friend-slash-tutoree should consist of gasps and heat and tongues and losing one’s sense of time altogether. At least, that’s what Jemma would have expected until a few minutes ago. It  _is_  what she’d been experiencing in the last week since her relationship with Fitz had taken a drastic, unpredictable, and wildly exciting turn. But he’d just dragged her into a spacious palace closet and now she couldn’t stop laughing.

His best efforts to stop her giggle-fit were certainly admirable, and she made a mental note to tell him later him that she very much liked that thing he’d just done with his tongue against her pulse point, but ultimately it was to no avail. Thinking about what they were doing (sneaking off into palace  _closets,_ for God’s sake!) just made her laugh harder, and Fitz let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled breathlessly, keeping him held against her by wrapping her fingers around his shirt buttons. “I’m sorry, but, honestly, Fitz, a  _closet_  -”

“Where else were we supposed to go? I don’t get a bedroom until after the coronation -”

“It’s not technically a coronation -”

“Whatever the bloody hell it is, the coronation-promise-thing, and I don’t think the Queen’d appreciate us using hers.”

“We  _could_  wait until we’re out of the palace and you’re not supposed to be learning the names of a few dozen heads of state -”

“Which you, as a biochemist, are  _so_  very qualified to teach me -”

“Your mum thought I’d be the only tutor you’d listen to, you know that -”

She was very rudely interrupted by Fitz pressing his lips to hers, slanting her mouth open, and thoroughly distracting her from scolding him. His fingers clutched rather desperately at her hips as she leaned forward against him, and she was reminded of why she’d been having so much trouble saying no to him ever since they’d first started doing… whatever this was.

“Besides,” he murmured, kissing his way along her neck, “this is basically international relations anyway.”

“Oh  _really_.”

He started sliding his hand up the back of her blouse, causing goosebumps to shiver up in his wake. “Yeah. Y’know, you’re a representative of this fine country -”

“In which you’ve lived for much of your life -”

“And I need to learn about your culture -”

“You barely know anything about Genovia, Fitz, never mind the country you practically grew up in -”

Yet again, she found her train of thought halted by his lips finding hers, and she tried to feel more annoyed than she actually did. The truth was that his preoccupation with kissing as much of her as he could reach above her shoulders was infinitely endearing, and the gentleness of his hands as they roamed across her skin made something in her chest tighten. This change in their relationship had happened so suddenly that she’d barely had time to process it, but they were long past due for a conversation about what they were doing now. (Other than literally. On that level, Fitz had just slid his tongue across her bottom lip and she was very, _very_ close to just saying to hell with logic and sense.)

The quiet, petulant whine he released when she broke away from his kiss almost sent her back into her giggle-fit, but she refrained, focused on her current train of thought.

“Fitz,” she murmured, nuzzling against his nose and feeling a small thrill at the soft smile he gave her in return. “What are we now?”

“What, or where? Because honestly, I’m not sure where we are, I just kept turning until I didn’t see any more guards -”

“Fitz.”

He swallowed, dropping his gaze. “We’re, ah. W-whatever you feel comfortable with, Jemma.”

Giving him an exasperated sigh, she leaned back against the closet wall. “What if I felt comfortable with eloping today and living on an island somewhere?”

“As long as the island had state-of-the-art lab equipment and resources, I’d be in.” His answer was too fast, far faster than she’d expected, and she inhaled at the seriousness in his eyes. “I meant what I said last week, Jemma. If I can’t… I mean, if there’s no possibility for us… for you and me… then I don’t want any of it. The throne, anything. All I want are you and our lab. That’s all.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to help teach you, Fitz,” she said softly, caressing his cheek. “It’s more than just what  _you_  want, now. If the time comes, you’d have an entire country to take care of - and that’s so much bigger than what either you or I want.”

“You’re worth more than that to me.”

She chuckled, tugging absently at his tie. “Worth more than an entire country?”

“Yeah.“

Her throat tightened at the look he was giving her, the one he’d been using for months but she hadn’t noticed until she’d thrown herself at him in the lab last week after his confession.

“But anyway, I’m going to choose to ignore most of what you just said,” he said quickly, clearing his throat, and she let out a small noise of annoyance. “And focus on the last part. What do  _you_  want?”

Jemma studied his face, only just barely able to see any blue in his eyes thanks to the darkness, and wondered how it had taken her all this time to see what was right in front of her. “The same as you.”

The smile that broke across Fitz’s face was both ecstatic and hesitant, and he wrapped his hands around both of hers. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she answered, leaning up to give him a sweet, heartfelt kiss. “But only if you actually start listening to me during our tutoring sessions.” With that, she slipped out from between him and the wall, and swung open the closet door. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Fitz groaned, but he followed her out into the hallway anyway, linking their fingers together as they fell into step. “I’ll try, but it’s like being back in Professor Vaughn’s class again. Except you’re much prettier.”

Laughing, Jemma gave him a sideways glance. “Well, that’s a relief. What about this for a compromise - if you’re well-behaved this afternoon, I’ll take my top off when we snog back at your apartment later.”

The choking noise Fitz made in response was completely vindicating, and he was nodding before he’d even gotten his breath back. “Yeah, good, okay. Deal. I didn’t even realize that - that was happening later. With or without shirt.”

“You should probably assume that it’s going to happen fairly often now that we’re secretly dating,” she said, dropping his hand as they entered a more populated part of the palace. “Just not in supply closets.”

“Right -”

“At least not the ones in the palace.”

He paused and turned to stare at her, narrowly avoiding crashing into a large suit of armor as he did so. “Does that mean non-palace supply closets are still an option?”

She shrugged and gave him a sly smile. “I’ve always been fond of the ones in the lab.”

Fitz didn’t actually manage to follow her into their unofficial tutoring room for a good twenty seconds, and when he did his face was bright pink. All in all, despite his attempt to derail their session, Jemma thought that the afternoon was progressing rather promisingly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Missing moment fic for 1x07. 
> 
> [Original post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/131455474277/i-wish-you-would-write-a-fic-about-the)

“I shot a superior officer in the chest.” 

Jemma couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

"With the Night-Night gun!"

Now that she knew she wasn’t going to be court-martialed (thanks to May terrifying Sitwell for reasons she cared not to think about), it had probably been one of the more exciting days of her life. Aside from blowing a hole in the side of this very plane, or being shot at in a temple, or… being infected with an alien virus. No, that hadn’t been so fun, she mused, and pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

The smile on Fitz’s face died a slow death, and far more quickly morphed into horror. He didn’t speak though, mouth working silently as he raised his hands to his hips. “Who?” His voice went all squeaky, and she was faintly amused by his obvious consternation.

“Jasper Sitwell.” Fitz let out a low wheeze and dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “But it’s -”

“We’re going to have to change our names.” With that rather dire and hoarse pronouncement, he strode out of the lab. 

Jemma blinked, glanced at the unpacking they had to do from the mission, and then timidly followed him into the loading bay. “Fitz?” She called this out as quietly as possible, giving Ward what she hoped was a congenial nod as she watched Fitz climb onto the metal staircase. 

“Not here,” he hissed in response and continued up the stairs two at a time, leaving her with no other option than to follow him.

Confused but still feeling amped up on adrenaline, Jemma hurried after him up through the Bus’ common area and toward his room. When she arrived at the doorway, he reached out to tug her inside, and she let out a small huff of annoyance at being manhandled. The door let out a sharp snap as he locked it behind her and then leaned against it.

“D’you think Jenna’s different enough, or would people crack that?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in between two fingers and let out a small groan. “Skye'd be great at this, but the more people we tell the -”

Recognizing his spiral into some sort of panic attack that she didn’t yet understand, Jemma planted two hands on his shoulders. “ _Fitz_.” His eyes opened just enough to peer down at her, and she raised her eyebrows. “ _What_  are you going on about?”

Fitz stared at her like she’d grown another head. “We’re going on the run so SHIELD doesn’t imprison you.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she groaned, throwing her hands up at his overreaction. “I’m not going to prison -”

“I dunno if you’ve willfully forgotten Academy orientation,” he said darkly, hands migrating yet again to his hips, “but SHIELD sorta frowns upon attacking superior officers. Let alone _shooting them_.”

“May sorted it!” He blinked at her. “Honestly, Fitz, do you think I’d even be on the plane right now if we hadn’t worked something out at the Hub?”

Frowning, he toed the carpet with his sneaker. “I - well, alright. Just….” He flicked his eyes up to hers and down again. “Wanted to be prepared.”

Jemma shook her head, bemused by her best friend’s newest strange behavior. “Well, fine, but we  _don’t_  need to come up with aliases or anything like that today, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Alright,” he muttered, thinking for a few seconds before exhaling. “Why the  _hell_  did you shoot Agent Sitwell, Simmons?!”

“Oh, well….” She trailed off, swallowing. “Skye… she didn’t like being kept in the dark -”

“That’s just our levels, you know that -”

“And she kept talking about the mission -”

“That she wasn’t qualified to know about -”

“And how you could be getting  _tortured_  out there, and I - I….” Jemma’s mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments, halting at the odd expression on his face. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

Fitz studied her for a few seconds, leftover Ossetian dust in his curls shining dully in the low bunk light. “You shot a superior officer in the chest ‘cause you thought I was being tortured.”

“Sort of,” she allowed, curling her fingers nervously into her palms. Her voice was noncommittal, hiding the effect that the idea of him possibly being in pain had had on her. She chose not to tell him about the horrific images that had flashed through her head back in the Hub’s main thoroughfare, or the immediate certainty she’d felt that she would do anything humanly possible to keep him safe.

“I dunno if I should be flattered or insulted that you think I couldn’t go on  _one_  bloody mission without getting tortured,” he huffed, and she let out a sharp noise of frustration. 

“Oh, nevermind,” Jemma sighed, reaching over to unlock the door and slide it open. As she ducked around him, he kept talking, poking his head out into the hall.

“Do you remember what I said about me saving Ward’s life?  _More than once_?” 

His voice carried through the plane as she strode to her bunk, and, even though she shook her head for his benefit, Jemma let a small smile cross her face. Ill-conceived though the plan may have been, there was something distinctly sweet about her best friend’s willingness to create aliases and go on the run to save her from imprisonment. Fortunately for them both, however, it had been completely unnecessary. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG. Canon-compliant, post-3x05. 
> 
> Inspired by the episode "Casino Night" from The Office. Unedited & written way past my bedtime.
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/132211397998/color).
> 
> Don't read this while listening to [Colorblind by the Counting Crows](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zY0yKxMwRGg).

Jemma used to see the world in bright colors. Everything had been vibrant, with patterns and spots and stars. But once she came back from the planet, all the colors simply seemed… muddled. Not as clear as they used to be. Except, every so often, for individual things.

The roses at dinner were a bright, shocking red.

The words on the computer screen were a clinical, blinking green.

Fitz’s eyes were a beautiful, painful blue. 

For the first few days, she’d spent long periods of time admiring their blue. He’d think she was resting, but really she was watching him. Drinking him in, his presence alone the oasis for which she’d been searching.

Now she could barely look at him at all without wanting to cry, and yet her eyes were drawn to him anyway. She’d spent most of her day trying not to stare at him, trying not to want to pick apart his brain so she would know exactly what he was thinking about. That wouldn’t help, of course. Jemma knew he was in pain. The only reason she wanted him to talk about it was so that she could share it with him, punish herself for feeling as torn as she did.

Because she did feel for Will. Whether it was gratitude or love, she couldn’t say. What she did know she felt was worry - the last thing she’d heard was that gunshot, and the idea that someone else had sacrificed himself so that she could escape was eating her raw from the inside out. Or maybe that was her fear that she’d ruined everything with Fitz once and for all. The pain was hard to differentiate.

They’d spent the day working around their other duties to piece together the godforsaken monolith, one step forward always seeming pushed by two steps back. Fitz was working harder than she thought she’d ever seen him, brows furrowed in focus and fingers flying over a keyboard or pages or calculations, his mind whirring brilliantly, far faster than hers would have alone. More than once she’d had to remind herself that she had work to do, that no one was going to be saved by her being distracted. (She’d missed his mind most of all, missed how he made those leaps that other people couldn’t dream of reaching.)

The tension between them was thick with things left unsaid, though, and when he’d gone to the mess hall for dinner she’d stayed in the lab. Being sad all the time was exhausting, and she thought that maybe if she worked a little by herself it would be good for her. Slowly, the rest of the scientists had all disappeared, one by one, leaving her alone in the darkened lab. She liked it better this way, she decided. 

No distractions. No heartache. Just her.

Much later, far past when she should’ve eaten and when most of the base had gone to bed, Jemma heard footsteps approach around the lab table. Glancing up, her polite smile died on her lips as she saw Fitz standing in the middle of the room, head bowed and hands shoved into his pockets. His hair was slightly ruffled, as if he’d been tossing and turning in bed - even though he was still wearing his clothes from earlier. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced in the half-dimmed artificial light, and she twisted her fingers into her loose shirt.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice rough and low. “Can’t stop thinking about it, actually.” He raised his eyes to hers, and she had to purse her lips against more tears. “About why.”

Jemma frowned, tongue feeling dry against the roof of her mouth; she’d told him why. Nerves crawled up her spine as he took a few steps forward and she realized that he wanted to talk about this now, that they weren’t just going to wait until they’d saved Will and work it out then. A very small part of her was curious, because even just hearing him talk made her feel calmer, but most of her was filled with dread. Words, yet again, wouldn’t come.

“It’s because….” He paused, lips fumbling as he tried to form his meaning, one finger waving between the two of them. “You’re not… we’ve never… you’re worried we wouldn’t… work in that way. That the chemistry’s not there.”

A few long seconds passed between them as she tried to parse his meaning and he took another couple of steps forward. Her eyes widened as she understood, and she tried to meet his gaze straight-on, although he was staring down at the floor. “What? No, Fitz, that’s not -“

Stopping her words in their track, he slid his hands underneath her jaw and tilted her head up so he could press their lips together. Momentarily frozen, Jemma stared at the closed lids of his eyes, dark lashes brushing against his skin. His mouth pressed more firmly against hers, her eyes dropped shut immediately, and she stretched eagerly up to fit their lips better together, her hands curling around his neck. Tingles danced through her veins as Jemma darted her tongue against the seam of his mouth, reveling in the way that his hand had dropped to her waist, fingers clenching into the soft skin between the hem of her shirt and the waist of her jeans. His lips were warm and careful and, oh, so soft it made her chest ache. She didn’t know how long they stood there, her letting him support all her weight as she leaned into his kisses, balancing precariously at the edge of the proverbial knife and not caring in the least.

Far too soon, Fitz pulled away, taking a deep, shuddery breath and leaning his forehead against hers. He stared at her for a few, long seconds, hurt shimmering at the edges of his eyes.

“I’m not done fighting for us, Jemma. I can’t be.”

Then, before she could respond or lean forward to chase his lips with her own, he was gone, already striding out the door and down the hall. Body singing with adrenaline, Jemma sunk shakily onto a nearby lab chair, mind spinning to the point of tears - yet again. With his touch gone, reality sunk in around her, and she was reminded of the messy emotions she’d spent her whole life trying to avoid. If they succeeded, if they managed to save Will, she had no idea what she would do - or how she could choose between the man who’d kept her alive and the man to whom she’d give her life.

Her fingers drifted up to her face, ghosting over the path left by Fitz’s lips. Blinking, Jemma winced as she returned to her work, the lab seeming somehow new and sharp.

She would swear that the colors hadn’t been this bright earlier.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG. Fairytale AU.
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/132251498828/oh-god-the-pressure-to-be-one-of-the-first-four-is).

The journey of squire Simmons had been long, dark, and… a little bit disgusting if she was being honest with herself. (She didn’t even want to know how long it had been since she’d had a chance to wash her tunic by this point.) 

But finally, after weeks on the road, she’d ridden on her noble steed to the castle in the middle of the woods, set the dragon free (and pointed him in the right direction for the sea), and was  _this close_  to rescuing her best friend from the terrible curse that had been placed upon him. The wooden door creaked as she pushed it open, her palms sweaty and pulse racing. 

“Prince Fitz?” 

No answer. As she stepped into the room, one hand on her rusted blade’s hilt, she was bemused to see that the space was entirely taken up by a large, four-poster bed, flowing, white curtains obscuring the inside. Not seeing her best friend anywhere else in the room, she proceeded hesitantly forward and parted the gauze.

Sure enough, Fitz was fast asleep on the mattress, sand-brown curls lying almost angelically against the satin pillowcase. Jemma inhaled into a frown, pushing her own hair out of her face as she wondered what exactly the curse did to him. Did he transform into a monster at night? Was he a werecreature of some kind? Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached out to stroke two fingers down the soft skin of his wrist, slightly colder to the touch than he should be. 

Her eyes trailed up to where he’d grown stubble as he’d slept, and a grin teased at her mouth. As they’d grown up in the same palace, she’d seen him first begin to grow hair on his face and then, embarrassed by her teasing, how he’d kept it cleanly shaven ever since. She never knew why, really - as she watched him now, chest rising peacefully in sleep, Jemma was struck by how handsome it made him look. Rather more like the prince he was born to be than the scrawny, brainy little boy she’d grown up beside. 

Pursing her mouth, a remembrance of certain kisses breaking curses passed through her head, and she sighed. As they were not true loves - they were best  _friends_ , for heaven’s sake - kissing him was unlikely to work. And yet….

His lips did look awfully appealing, she thought to herself, leaning over to cup his cheek in one hand. Perhaps kissing Fitz once - just to see what it was like - wouldn’t hurt. And if it didn’t break the curse, then no one ever had to know. 

Jemma took a deep breath, tucked her hair behind her ear and shifted her sword out of the way, and then leaned down to press their lips together. 

Something sharp sparked between them, warmth circling around her skin and down to her toes, and her eyes flew open. A few centimeters from her, Fitz blinked his eyes open, mouth parting in surprise as he realized what had just happened. As she swallowed, frozen in place just above him as she tried to come up with an explanation for why she’d decided that kissing her best friend had seemed like a good idea, he stretched up and pressed their lips together again. 

A small noise of surprise squeaked out of her throat, but then his hand curled up around the back of her neck, his lips began to move against hers, and Jemma completely forgot that this was supposed to be a bad idea. Her other hand reached up to press against the pillow behind him, and when she swept her tongue against the seam of his mouth he let out a brief groan. 

After a few more seconds, during which Jemma wondered if they  _really_  needed to leave this tower room at all, Fitz pulled back for air. He didn’t move far, though, nuzzling up at her nose as they both caught their breaths.

“I knew it’d be you,” he murmured, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Had to be.” 

A wide smile spread across Jemma’s face as she drunk in the adoration on Fitz’s, and she was suddenly very glad indeed that she had been the one he’d needed all along.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG. Future fic, wedding AU.
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/132275209153/fitzsimmons-wedding-day-kiss).

Putting on her grandmother’s earrings while she was bouncing on her toes was something of a challenge, but Jemma Simmons wasn’t going to let that stop her. She’d been up since five o’clock this morning, helping with early set-up and drinking large quantities of tea, and currently she had so much energy there was no hope of her standing still. 

Now it was only half an hour until showtime, and she was feeling somewhat antsy. Not about the wedding, of course, but about missing one particular someone who she hadn’t been allowed to see at all since the night before. Their rooms shared a wall and a doorway, and she couldn’t help the way her eyes kept flickering towards it, knowing that Fitz was puttering around on the other side and being desperately ready to share the day with him. They’d been apart for longer than this before, but for some reason these fifteen hours felt practically infinite to her. Jemma was so used to sharing everything that excited her with Fitz, and having to wait to see him was driving her somewhat batty. 

(When she’d shared this thought with her maid of honor only a few minutes before, Skye had just rolled her eyes and muttered something about “too precious to be real” before heading out to help Bobbi corral guests.)

A hesitant knock sounded on the door between the bride and groom’s suites, and Jemma’s heart gave a brief patter. 

“Yeeeees?” she said, grabbing her skirts and maneuvering closer to the door. 

“Hi,” came Fitz’s voice from the other side, and a goofy smile spread across Jemma’s face. It was probably good that Skye wasn’t here right now, because she’d probably either coo or pretend to gag.

When he didn’t follow-up with anything else, she leaned one shoulder against the door, reaching up to tuck a tendril of artfully-draped hair behind her ear. “Hi,” she replied, trying to picture what he looked like through the white-painted wood. 

“How’re you doing? Y’know,” he said, a small thud indicating that he was probably leaning against his door, too. “With the dress. And things.”

“Wonderful,” she said, her voice a little breathier than she’d like. “And you? You know, with the tuxedo. And things.”

He laughed, and she traced the edge of the door’s decorative molding. “Alright.” Another silence passed between them, and she glanced at the clock. In less than an hour, she’d be Jemma Simmons-Fitz for the rest of her life, and she couldn’t wait. “I really want to kiss you.”

A low chuckle escaped her throat, and she tilted her forehead against the wood. “There will be plenty of time for that later, Fitz.”

“Not like that,” he grumbled, and she grinned at the flush surely tinting the edges of his ears. “I just - can I come through, please? Just for a minute. I don’t wanna wait until half of SHIELD and our parents are watching.”

“You  _know_  it’s bad luck -”

“C’mon, you’ve told me you don’t believe that.”

Jemma frowned and stuck her tongue between her teeth, even though he couldn’t see her. “But it’s tradition.”

“What if I keep my eyes closed? I promise I won’t open them, I promise. Just for a few seconds, that’s all.” She sighed, a fond smile spreading across her face. “Missed you last night,” he murmured, and if she didn’t know that it was scientifically impossible she’d think that her heart swelled a whole size.  _God_ , Jemma loved him, more than any story she’d ever read or seen had ever prepared her to love anyone. 

“Okay,” she said at last, “but I’m going to close my eyes, too. Bad luck has to work both ways, doesn’t it?”

“Dunno,” he answered, already unlocking and turning the doorknob from his side. “Not exactly an expert on antiquated marriage superstitions.”

“I thought you were an expert on everything,” she teased, unlatching her own door and sliding it open. Closing her eyes tightly, Jemma shuffled against the wood, reaching carefully around the creaking door and quickly pressing one hand against the solid, suited shape of Fitz’s chest. 

“Shush,” he muttered, one hand clumsily finding and holding onto her shoulder before shifting up to her neck. “Make fun later, I’m busy right now.”

When their mouths met, lips parting as they slid together, she wound one arm up around his neck and thought briefly about how they probably looked just like a couple from one of those wedding catalogues May had piled on Jemma’s desk so many months ago. Pity that neither of them could actually see themselves.

As Fitz darted his tongue out against hers, she melted a little further against him, delighting in the warm press of his hands through her gown. Kissing her best friend for the first time those many months ago had been a revelation, and the joy of it hadn’t lessened one iota with time. 

Eventually, he pulled away for air, pressing their foreheads together and brushing his nose against hers. “I love you so much,” he breathed. Yet another smile broke across her face. 

“I love you, too,” she replied quietly, feathering her lips against his one more time. “So - oh,  _so_  much.” Briefly caressing his cheek, pleased to feel that he’d heeded her request for some amount of stubble, she sighed. “I should go before Skye comes back.”

“Yeah, and I dunno if Hunter’s ever coming back from the bar, but he said he’d only be a minute.” Angling her head down a bit as his lips blindly sought their destination, Fitz pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “ _See_  you soon.”

“I can’t wait,” she replied, gently closing the door behind her and giving in to another giddy grin as she opened her eyes. Ghosting her fingers over her lips, Jemma returned to her dressing table and glanced at the clock. The wedding march couldn’t begin soon enough.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG-13. College AU.
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/132279691899/kissing-drabble-prompt-im-trying-to-study-stop).

Jemma Simmons was famous for her study habits. Top notch, her teachers had always said, and her parents had always come back from PTA meetings practically glowing. Word of her ability to study in even the most harrowing conditions had spread from department to department, younger students hanging on her every word of advice whenever she offered tutoring sessions. Although she still wasn’t sure whether she wanted to go into biology or chemistry after graduation, she knew that she would ace all of her exams because her studying abilities were unparalleled. 

Or had been until she’d started dating her best friend.

Leo Fitz was not famous for his study habits. He was famous for his brains, which were admittedly impressive, and for his ability to survive in a room whose floor had been indistinguishable from his laundry basket for most of the past four years. Truly, she adored everything about him (not that she would ever tell him and risk his head getting any bigger than it already was) - but that was really  _not_ the point of her current internal rant. 

At the moment, Jemma was trying very hard to get an extra hour’s worth of studying in on her couch, and Fitz simply  _refused_  to leave her alone. They’d only been dating for a couple months (although somehow it felt like both forever and not nearly long enough all at once), and now he seemed to think that he could just slide up behind her on the sofa and kiss her neck whenever he wanted.

And no, it didn’t  _matter_  that she’d encouraged him to do things exactly like this in the past. Clearly she had her “studying face” on - now was not the time.

But he simply refused to read her mind today, apparently, his fingers brushing aside her ponytail and his lips meandering down the back of her neck and along the curve of her shoulder in just the way she liked. Jemma inhaled and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to repeat the last sentence she’d read rather than focus on the way one hand had slid around her abdomen, palm warm even through the fabric of her camisole. Fitz nipped lightly at her neck, soothing the mark with his tongue and lips, and a low whimper escaped her throat. 

The sound shook some sense back into her, however, and she gave her head a sharp shake, forcing him a few inches back. 

“I’m trying to study, Fitz,” she said, trying to sound snappish and not breathy. “Stop distracting me!”

“You don’t need to study for that exam,” he replied blithely, wrapping both arms around her stomach and tucking his chin against her shoulder. 

“Of  _course_  I need to -”

“You’ve had that textbook memorized for at least two weeks.”

“How could you possibly -”

“You’ve been quoting it in your sleep.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks warmed. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Didn’t mention it ‘cause I know you love homework more’n life itself.”

Jemma let out an indignant sniff, although she did let herself lean back into his chest. “I like other things more than homework, you know.”

Fitz made a faux-serious little hum, and she rolled her eyes in advance of his teasing. “Mmmm, nope, can’t think of anything. Must be lying.”

“I like  _you_  more than homework.” She bit her lip, feeling a brief clench of his fingers into her skin. 

“You can’t see it,” he said at last, voice a little breathless, “but I’m smiling really, really wide right now.”

“Widely,” she corrected, giggling as he groaned and twisted her awkwardly around so that he could clamber over her on the couch. After a little bit of maneuvering, he was leaning above her on his elbows, blue eyes shining in the late afternoon sunlight.

“I don’t think I need to hear you say the L-word ever after that,” he continued teasing, his natural Scottish brogue making every joke sound just a tad more wry. “Saying you like something more than homework’s about the same to you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jemma answered immediately, gratified by the way his amusement switched right into surprise. Lifting one hand up to trace her fingers along the curve of his jaw, she gave him a shy smile. “Yeah.” Then she stretched up to fit their mouths together, nerves zinging through her veins even though they’d already talked about this, talked about how she hadn’t known at all and then how she’d known so acutely that sometimes it hurt. 

After a few seconds, Fitz pulled away and started pressing kisses over her cheeks, nose, forehead, and she burst into giggles. When his mouth found hers again, Jemma sighed happily and wound her arms around his shoulders, thinking that maybe she could put off studying this once. Just for a little while longer.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Written post-S2 finale, intended as a pseudo-Future AU.
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/123074855183/fitzsimmons-4).

Despite the relative peace they’d been enjoying at the base in recent days, Jemma could tell that Fitz had been in a bad mood from the moment he’d walked into the lab this morning. Although he’d given her a shy, lingering smile at the time, it had switched almost immediately to a scowl at the sight of the mess one of the other scientists had left on a nearby desk. Never one to let a budding romance get in the way of his work, he’d proceeded to grump through the day, although he did apologize once for snapping at her. Eventually, she’d had enough, and after watching him for a few minutes in an attempt to figure out what was wrong, she sidled over to where he was hunched over his workstation, peering at troublesome new designs. 

“Fitz….”

“Hm?”

“May - may I ask you a question?”

“Mm.”

Jemma sighed. “Would you look at me, please?”

Blinking somewhat owlishly at her, he straightened in his chair. “Sorry.”

“You’ve been a bit of a prat all day -” She waved off his indignation. “Stop that, you know you have. I was just wondering… I noticed you squeezing your hand a bit more than normal.” 

Unsurprisingly, Fitz dropped his gaze from hers at the mention of his hand, and then shrugged. On some level, she understood his discomfort with talking about the injury; it had to be difficult for someone whose entire life revolved around working with his hands to have to readjust to using one of them. But he always seemed to treat it like it was his own weakness despite it obviously not being his fault, and that frustrated her to no end. 

“It’s fine, I just - I dunno, think I worked it too much yesterday.” He flitted his gaze up to hers and away again. “And I sorta forgot to do my exercises last night.”

“Oh, Fitz….” She gave him an exasperated smile.

“Well, we didn’t get back until late, y’know, and….” He paused, unable to help the smile that teased at his own lips. “And I was distracted.”

“Ah yes,  _distracted_ ….”

“I had some good conversations to go over, y’know, make sure I didn’t forget anything.” His cheeks were slightly pink, and Jemma was quite sure they matched the color of her own. “And you looked really pretty at the restaurant. Thought about that for a bit.”

“Oh,” she breathed, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to try to stifle her pleased grin. It still felt patently odd, in some ways, to be flirting with her best friend, but she couldn’t deny the little butterflies that had settled into the pit of her stomach whenever they did. “Um - well,” she stammered, pushing loose hair behind one ear as she tried to get herself back to the reason why she’d come over here in the first place. “I was just - if your hand’s bothering you, I thought -”

“It’s fine -”

“I could maybe give you a massage...?” His mouth dropped open as her blush deepened, and she tried desperately to remember that this was supposed to be a professional environment. “I’m not a trained physiotherapist, but I might be able to help loosen any tightness. Only if you want to. If you’re not busy. Which, um, I’m sure you are -”

“No,” he interrupted her, his own blush fanning up to his ears. “That sounds nice.” Fitz paused, glancing around the bustling lab. “I mean, helpful. That would be helpful, Jemma, thanks.”

“Oh! Right, good,” she breathed, twisting around to find a spare chair and pulling it up so that their knees touched when she sat down. A small twinge of nerves zinged through her stomach, although she couldn’t fathom why - other than that this could potentially be misconstrued by their nosy coworkers. Fitz provided his left hand before she had time to analyze her own bizarre reactions, and she tried to see if she could locate the source of the tension by moving his hand and fingers around gently first. When that didn’t help, she laid it on her denim-clad knee, palm up, and got to work. 

For a minute or so, she concentrated in silence, pressing her thumb carefully along the inner muscles of his palm and trying to alleviate any problems as best she could. As she pressed along the base of his thumb he inhaled sharply and she quickly moderated her pressure, lifting her gaze to his.

“Sorry, sorry, was that….” But she trailed off at the sight of him so close to her that she could almost feel his breath against her skin. He must have leaned forward to watch her work and now his face was mere inches from hers, bright blue eyes shining even in the dim fluorescents. Her gaze flitted down to his lips as his tongue darted out to wet them, and she was suddenly struck by the very new desire to kiss her best friend. Her best friend who was maybe-almost-definitely now something more than that.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low as her eyes returned to his. 

“Is, um,” she said, clearing her throat, “is that any better?” Gently releasing his hand, Jemma studiously ignored the way her voice had gotten all breathy and high, tangling her own hands together in her lap.

Fitz clenched and opened his fist, letting out a small sigh. “Christ, yeah, that’s loads better,” he breathed, looking up to give her a bright smile. “You’re a miracle-worker, Jemma -”

“Oh, it’s really nothing, just basic anatomy -”

“Really,” he cut her off, reaching out to curl his hand over both of hers. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Her answering grin was just as wide as his, and she wondered briefly if her blush was  _ever_  going to disappear at this point. Then he leaned forward and gave her a quick peck at the corner of her mouth, as if he’d thought of really kissing her but changed his mind halfway there and instead aimed for her cheek. 

They both froze a few millimeters apart, staring at each other, until Fitz gave his head a small shake. “Better get back -”

But he was interrupted by Jemma leaning forward and firmly pressing her lips to his. Later, she would wonder what the hell had come over her, especially considering that the room was filled with their co-workers and that this behavior was patently inappropriate for the workplace. In the moment, however, all she’d wanted was to see what kissing Fitz would be like and had decided that waiting was overrated. Her fingers curled into his unbuttoned shirt collar as she angled his mouth open just enough to brush her tongue over his. A shiver ran through him, his fingers tensing where they were pressed into her knees, and he gently moved his lips in concert hers. It was brief, mere seconds, but by the time they separated they were both a little short of breath. 

“Right,” Jemma whispered, eyes a little wider than natural as she pulled back. “That was - I’m glad that helped.” She got to her feet a little unsteadily and turned around, trying to get her head back on straight. “I’ll, um, leave you to your work.”

“Okay.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way back to her own work station and tried very hard not to bump into every table in between. When she glanced up again, he was still watching her, but by then he was leaning on the arm of his chair, fist pressed to his lips but not hiding the wide smile he wore. A grin flashed across her face and she ducked her head, feeling her cheeks heat up again. It seemed that Jemma’s blush had no intention of going away as long as Fitz kept looking at her like that - and, well, that was probably just fine with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ For anyone who is keeping up with [The Storm Inside](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5039197)/the Inhuman AU, I just wanted to let you know that unfortunately this week's chapter is going to be postponed due to my current workload. It should be no more than a week or two extra, tops! Just until I feel like I can breathe again. :-) So sorry for the delay! ]]


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rated M** for nudity  & sex talk. Unspecified Future AU.
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/123087864023/44).

In retrospect, Jemma should have known that this could only end in tears. 

The evening had started out so promisingly, too.

Having taken the afternoon off, she and Fitz had brought food back to her room and then spent a good two hours not eating it. Eventually, once Fitz's stomach had rumbled for a third time as they'd cuddled under the blankets, they’d brought the containers into bed with them. To her amusement, though, he'd only managed to eat a few bites before he'd apparently become mesmerized by the rise and fall of her breasts under the sheet she'd wrapped around her torso. This only led to them getting distracted again - with the containers of food being shoved unceremoniously onto her bedside table.

After that go-around, Fitz had declared that he wanted popcorn instead of actual food. Much to his displeasure, Jemma had volunteered to be the one to put all her clothes on and venture outside - mostly because she didn’t trust him not to completely give away what they had spent the past however-many hours doing (instead of the time away from the base that they'd requested). When she’d returned with their freshly popped dinner, he’d insisted on peeling her out of her clothes piece by piece and the popcorn was cold by the time they got around to eating it. Thoroughly exhausted by that point, they’d agreed to turn on one of their favorite movies, and had happily curled around each other for the duration of the film. And then everything went to hell.

“C’mooooon,” Fitz wheedled, leaning forward to poke her bare knee. “We need to be able to beat Skye’s record.” They were sitting cross-legged facing each other, the pillow shifting slightly in his unclothed lap as he straightened.

Jemma rolled her eyes and tucked the bedsheet more securely under her arms. (Fitz had complained rather bitterly about her insistence on modesty, but - as usual - she’d won the argument by noting that she could make his brain short out with or without the sheet on.) “Skye’s got it down to an art, I don’t think -”

“We just need to practice! We’ve got three and a half PhDs between us -”

“They don’t count PhDs by the half, Fitz -”

“So if we just practice a little more -”

“And it would be  _four_  PhDs between us if you hadn’t gotten distracted partway through your second one -”

“We can definitely beat Skye! And I didn’t get distracted, I changed my mind, you know that.”

Sighing into a grin, Jemma nibbled at her bottom lip. “Fifteen minutes of practice, and then you fetch me those chocolate truffles from your bunk?” 

“Deal,” he said with a firm nod, and then leaned over to give her a quick peck on the lips. Jemma hooked one hand behind his neck before he could move away and angled his mouth open for a long, heated kiss. Partly for just the pleasure of being able to do that now, but mostly because she loved the inevitable stunned, unfocused look on his face that followed. He blinked his eyes open as she sat back, and then stared wordlessly down at her lips for an amusingly long time. 

“Well,” she teased, reaching over for a few pieces of popcorn, “are we going to practice or what, Fitzy?” 

He cleared his throat as he lowered back onto the mattress, fingers flexing into the pillow. “Uh, yeah, yup. Practice. That we will do.” Giving his head a quick shake, he settled both hands on his knees and straightened his shoulders. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Fitz managed to catch four out of ten kernels in his mouth, but his low percentage may also have been because Jemma couldn’t stop giggling at the face he made every time he leaned forward for the popcorn. 

After she collapsed in giggles over the bowl, he threw his arms out in exasperation. “What?!”

“It’s just… nothing, honestly -”

“What’s so funny? Come on, Jemma….”

Suppressing a snort, she managed to make herself stop laughing long enough to meet his gaze. “It’s just - it’s kind of like the face you make when you…” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You know.”

He frowned. “What?”

“When you climax.” The horrified indignation on his face was too much for her and she burst into giggles again, covering her mouth with both hands.

“It is  _NOT_  the same!”

“How could you know?” 

His mouth worked silently for a few moments. “I just know!”

“Of course.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Definitely not.”

“…Is it a bad face?”

Jemma made a small cooing noise, and reached her hand into the bowl again. “No, it’s a lovely face.”

“It’s not - it’s not supposed to be  _lovely_ …!”

Sighing, she held up a piece of popcorn. “Fine, it’s a sexy manly face, does that make you feel better?”

“No,” he said petulantly, and then slid his eyes up to her face. “Maybe a little.”

“Come on then, let’s finish practicing so you can get me my chocolate and I can get back to making you feel properly manly.” His eyes darkened as he nodded into a grin, and she tossed the popcorn as close to his mouth as possible. Unfortunately, her aim improved at just the wrong moment, because the kernel lodged in his throat and Fitz started coughing uncontrollably. 

Pushing the bowl out of the way, she scrambled across the bed, sheet unraveling as she went, and began to whack him solidly on the back. “If you die because of this bloody popcorn game, I’m going to kill you!” 

Jemma should have known that agreeing to play a game involving tossing food at her boyfriend would never end well, and she was afraid for five whole seconds that she was going to be right.

After a few solid thwacks, he coughed up the offending popcorn and then collapsed onto the mattress, spread-eagled and red-faced. Jemma stretched over him to fetch a water bottle from the bedside table and handed it over, pressing one hand to her chest as if to slow her own racing heart. A few moments went by with them both breathing heavily over the hum of the Playground’s AC system, and then - to Jemma’s consternation - Fitz chuckled.

“Oh, that’s funny, is it?”

“No, no -” He paused to let his laughter slow, and tossed the empty bottle into the nearby trashcan. “I just managed to get you naked again without even trying.”

Jemma whacked his stomach, and he bent over slightly, still laughing. “You’re naked, too!”

“Oh yeah,” he said, almost too casually. “I wonder what two naked people could possibly do together….” As he reached for her hand, she tutted and pulled away. 

“I don’t think so, Agent Fitz. You owe me chocolate.”

Fitz sighed and gave her an annoyingly endearing puppydog look. “After I get you chocolate?”

“Maybe.” She grinned. “I wouldn’t mind a repeat of the first go around.”

Grinning, he scooted off the bed to hunt for his clothes. “That was rather good, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” she agreed, kneeling on the mattress and catching his wrist as he strode towards his wayward t-shirt. “And you were  _exceedingly_  manly.” He grumbled into her kiss, but his protests faded quickly as they got distracted yet again. One of his hands wandered down to her arse, she hummed as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, and she thought that maybe she could wait a little longer for the chocolate after all. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rated M** for nudity  & sex talk. Future AU.
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/134204786019/every-time-i-see-the-fitzsimmons-secret-santa-gif).

_1\. Skye_

Another day, another mission that didn’t get her home until three in the morning. Skye rubbed her eyes and squinted at her watch. Make that three-oh-seven in the morning. 

The Playground was actually not nearly as quiet as one might think it would be at this time of night, but as she strode from the locker rooms towards the residential area the last few workaholics faded away, leaving the sound of little other than the air filtration system. 

And bed springs.

Frowning, Skye backed up a few steps. Yup, those were definitely bed springs - and giggling. When she finally figured out which room the odd noises were coming from, her nose wrinkled in displeasure. That was definitely Fitz’s room. And that giggle definitely belonged to -

“ _AARGH!”_  

As she’d tried to back away from her friend’s room, Skye had missed the  _CAUTION: WET FLOOR_  sign. Now she looked just like the cartoon dude inside the red triangle, one leg having flown up in front of her and everything. Before she could even inspect her gauntlets to make sure they were undamaged, the door to Fitz’s room opened, revealing Jemma Simmons. Wrapped in bedsheets. Wearing a Christmas Elf hat with ginormous plastic ears. 

“Oh dear, Skye, are you okay?”

Nodding mutely and trying desperately not to laugh, Skye scrambled to her feet. “Yup, totally fine.” She glanced down at the gauntlets, which had survived her clumzoid attack with nary a scratch. “Just - attacked by the cleaning staff.”

A small grin graced Jemma’s features. “Again?”

Skye scowled and adjusted her tactical gear, reminding herself that she was a superhero and didn’t need to be teased by wry biochemists. “It was just one other time.” At Jemma’s arched eyebrow, Skye stuck out her tongue. “Go back to sexing up your boyfriend.” 

In a valiant attempt to have the last word, Skye stomped off down the hallway, glancing quickly over her shoulder with a smile. She would have  _so_  much material to tease those two with by breakfast, they wouldn’t even know what hit them.

_2\. Jemma  (Ten minutes earlier)_

“I cannot believe you bought this,” Fitz grumbled as Jemma tugged the elf hat further down over his forehead. 

“You look adorable,” she cooed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, arms crossed over one of his pillows and a thunderous look on his face - beneath the brightly colored elf hat. And still naked behind the pillow, of course. It was a shame he would never let her take a picture of him like this, she mused inwardly. The image really was one in a million.

“I look like a twat.”

Letting out a frustrated tsk, she swept the hat off his head and affixed it to her own. “It’s festive, Fitz - look!” She gave a little twirl, the copious sheets from his queen-sized bed swishing around her shins. “The ears are supposed to be funny! Isn’t it cute?” 

As she slowed her spin, stumbling only slightly when the heavy sheets kept moving without her, she belatedly noticed that a mischievous, Grinch-esque grin had spread across his face. The next thing she knew, he had her by the waist and was pulling her on top of him on the bed. A giggle burst out of her as he dug his fingers teasingly into the sensitive skin at her waist, bared as she’d gone sailing onto the bed.

“No - tickling,” she gasped, continuing to laugh against her own will and burying her face in his neck as he refused to relent.

“I thought ‘all was fair,’” he murmured in that infuriatingly attractive, low tone he knew she couldn’t resist. Finally ceasing his attack, he dropped an affectionate kiss against her temple, just below the felt edge of the hat. “And  _you_  are cute. The hat is not.”

Jemma groaned, thwacking him lightly on the arm. “Oh, please. If I walked in here wearing nothing but the hat, you  _still_  wouldn’t be able to say no.”

“That’s because I’m not an idiot.”

Feigned annoyance or not, she couldn’t stop the giggle she released at the image that formed in her head. “So you agree, then. You’d have sex with me with this hat on.”

“Yup. I’d just spend the whole time staring at your boobs.”

Just then, a loud shriek sounded from the hallway right outside Fitz’s door, and they both turned in unison to stare at it. “What on…?”

“I’ll go see,” Jemma said, clambering off her boyfriend and pulling her sheet toga more securely around herself.

_3\. Fitz (Twenty minutes earlier)_

Fitz’s plan for the night had mostly involved going to bed early. 

Funnily enough, however, he hadn’t felt tired anymore the second that he’d watched Jemma strip off her blouse to change into her pajamas. She’d never made it into said pajamas, and, three hours later, here he was, lying in bed and trying to get his breath back. If he and Jemma were going to keep up this kind of rigorous bedroom activity for the foreseeable future, he was  _really_  going to have to take up cardio.

“You’re right,” she murmured, dropping feathery kisses over the curve of his shoulder. 

“I know,” he said automatically. Then he frowned. “Wait, about what?”

“You’re very persuadable mid-coitus.”

Now on high alert, Fitz slid his gaze over to meet that of his girlfriend. “What?”

The casual shrug she gave him in response didn’t make him feel any better. “Oh, nothing. I’m just excited to take pictures for our Christmas cards this year.”

His eyes narrowed to the point that she wasn’t much more than a smug blur lying along his side. “What Christmas cards?”

“You agreed to take pictures while wearing an elf hat. With elf ears.”

“I did not!” The second the words were out of his mouth, though, Fitz had the vague memory of not long before when he’d been seconds away from…. “That’s cheating.”

Jemma grinned, leaning in to suck up a love bite just above his collarbone. For a few, long seconds, Fitz completely forgot what they’d been arguing about. “You’re the one who said that you’d do anything, if I’d -”

“That’s hyperbole,” he squeaked, quickly clearing his throat and returning to speaking at a normal decibel. “S’not fair to make a man promise to do anything when he’s… he’s….”

Suppressing a laugh, she stretched up to peer down at him, her hair falling alongside her cheek. Instinctively, Fitz reached up to sweep it back behind her ear, letting his palm linger against the warmth of her skin. 

“About to have a truly marvelous orgasm?”

“ _Marvelous_  might be a bit much,” he muttered. Jemma raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, fine. That. And it’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” she quipped, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her like a toga. “And Christmas cards!”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as the first of my [500k Giveaway 500-word drabbles](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/139604843563/agentverbivore-congratulations), for [nerdybean](http://nerdybean.tumblr.com)! Thank you for the prompt, & I hope you like it!
> 
> The request: "FS are bingeing Doctor Who till they fall asleep, which is fine (to everyone else, since no one knows of their relationship) but Fitz has to figure a way out of Jemma’s bunk and back to his."
> 
> Rated G. Undefined Future.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/140304453674/500k-giveaway-drabble-1).

Jemma Simmons would swear up and down that she’d never fallen asleep in front of a _Doctor Who_ episode in her life. Fitz knew that it’d be a lie.

It was particularly false if they were doing any kind of marathon, during which she would inevitably doze off somewhere either partially or entirely on top of him. Somehow, she usually managed to wake up just before the credits each time and continue her charade through to the next watching session. 

Currently, however, she was fast asleep on his chest as the credits finished scrolling on the screen of his laptop, their fingers entwined over his heart. He caught himself smiling sappily down at her as she snored against his shirt, but couldn’t even bring himself to roll his eyes. This was far from the first time that she’d fallen asleep on top of him, but it was quickly becoming one of his favorite ones. After all, they’d missed the first ten minutes of the episode because they’d gotten distracted by snogging, and that was definitely a first for their television bingeathons.

A quick glance at his watch elicited a sigh, and his brows furrowed as he tried to figure out a solution to his current predicament. Not only did he want to find a way to escape her room without waking her, but he also needed to do it while avoiding being caught by any of their co-workers. The newest stage of their relationship – the one that involved kissing and was increasingly involving very interesting new kinds of touching – was still in its infancy, and neither of them much wanted to talk to anyone else on the base about it yet. 

Undecided as to his course of action, Fitz let out a small sigh and bent down to drop a kiss to her nose – but was surprised by Jemma tilting her head up at the same time, resulting in their mouths bumping awkwardly together. Just as he started to stammer an apology, she let out a sleepy hum and stretched up to press her lips against his, one hand sliding up to tangle in his hair. His mind faded to a pleasantly fuzzy blank as their mouths moved lazily together, Jemma clearly still somewhat asleep and yet taking the lead all the same. 

After a few moments, she shifted upwards, attempting to keep their lips together as she pushed him onto his back. He abruptly realized that her legs were bracketing his hips and she was pressed against him from chest to belly, and... she dropped away from his mouth to tuck her head beneath his chin, and was already halfway back to sleep.

A low laugh rumbled out of his chest, and Fitz smoothed his hands up and down her back. Jemma snuggled in even closer, mumbling something indistinct about how they’d have to re-watch this episode, and he rolled his eyes. Although she was lying a bit heavily against him in this position, he figured he could adjust her once she was more soundly asleep. It seemed that he’d have another few hours to figure out how to sneak back to his own bunk after all.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as the second of my [500k Giveaway 500-word drabbles](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/139604843563/agentverbivore-congratulations), for [dark-ones-dagger](dark-ones-dagger.tumblr.com)! Thank you for the prompt, & I hope you like it!
> 
> (A special thank you to my science advisor [astrotimbre](http://astrotimbre.tumblr.com) for essentially betaing this drabble for me, to make sure I hadn't made any egregious scientific/mathematical lingo faux-pas. -- Unless I cited artistic license. ;-) )
> 
> The request: "Jemma finds Fitz a thousand times more attractive when he’s got an idea and frantically scribbling equations on everything."
> 
> Rated PG. Intended to be canon-compliant and take place between 2x06 and 2x16, but could also be read along with [The Storm Inside](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5039197) for a peek into Jemma's POV prior to the start of the fic.
> 
> [Tumblr post](xxx).

It shouldn’t surprise Jemma that she eventually finds attraction in numbers, in the familiar workings of equations and constants and vectors. Yet it does, sneaking up on her so gradually that she doesn’t even realize what she wants until she believes that she’ll never have him. Fitz isn’t aware of her increasingly lingering gazes, or of the thoughts she has late at night, trapped within the dingy, shadowed bricks of her bunk.

His hands become a gateway drug.

At first it’s innocent, born of her concern for his recovery. In lacking the courage to ask for concrete details of his improvement, Jemma watches his hands as he works, making mental notes every time his left hand twitches or tightens. Usually, she gets away with this best when he scribbles out equations, trying to work something out with pen and paper before turning to his programs and simulations. The writing is the excuse she needs to slide closer, nearly hip to shoulder, as they’d used to stand habitually all those years ago.

(Only months, she corrects herself. Her time away had felt endless, but it, of course, had not been. When she isn’t distracted by all these new feelings, in the dead of night when her breaths are swallowed by the Playground’s stagnant air, she wonders if maybe making it endless would have been better. Would have helped him more. Would have kept the rotting ache in her chest at bay for that much longer.)

His hand lies splayed against the table as the other speeds through line after line of brilliance, tendons pulling taught and then releasing. Fitz works intently, unaware of or ignoring her gaze. The pen dashes out lettering in his familiar handwriting, cramped – as if he were used to having more words than space – and only legible to him and her. Jemma finds herself noting the shifts of his fingers against the pen's aluminum case, pink skin paling as it presses hard against the metal’s dull shine, rather than the infrequent tremors. 

This happens three, four, five times before she realizes she wants to know if his hands would look the same as they carded through her hair or smoothed against her skin. Giving her head a sharp shake, she always returns to admiring the way Fitz solves problems the same as he ever did, brain injury be damned, and fights the urge to think about anything else regarding his hands. What they would taste like as she traced the ridges of his fingerprints with her tongue, whether they would be hot even through the thin silk of her blouse, pressing her up and forward and closer.

Once they begin, no tricks will keep the thoughts at bay, leaving her wide awake and restless for days on end as she tries to grapple with what they mean. She begins admiring the piercing blue of his eyes and the molded curls of his hair, the way his new clothes cut his figure somehow leaner and more sharp.

Her thoughts become tangled with the numbers that started them, she dreams of him tracing fractals and lemniscates upon her bare arms, and when she wakes she wants. Jemma feels like she will turn inside out from the wanting, from the guilt that follows. From the knowledge that her wanting isn’t wanted back anymore.

So instead of acting on her thoughts, Jemma watches Fitz work and wonders if there is an equation complex enough to quantify the inner workings of her heart. An equation steady enough to define all the ways that she couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. Or one bold enough to demonstrate that attraction, though valuable, is the least important aspect of her feelings for Fitz.

The love came first. The equation of attraction is little more than an analytical bonus.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as the third of my [500k Giveaway 500-word drabbles](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/139604843563/agentverbivore-congratulations), for [upsidedownhappyland](http://upsidedownhappyland.tumblr.com)/[AthenaMuze](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaMuze/pseuds/AthenaMuze)! Thank you for the prompt, & I hope you like it!
> 
> The request: "Internet friends AU! Something with charming long distance communication." I've never seen it done before, so I figured I'd do a tumblr AU specifically. And since I tend to get carried away with these things, you can find their "blogs" at [biochemjedi](http://biochemjedi.tumblr.com/) and [engineeringmonkey](http://engineeringmonkey.tumblr.com/). I just wanted to play around with their respective tagging systems a bit. :-)
> 
> Rated G. 
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/141060796513/jedi-meets-monkey).

Jemma fought the urge to bang her head against the coffee shop’s table by reminding herself that it couldn’t possibly be sanitary by this point in the day; dozens of people could have sneezed on it by now. Instead, she settled for fiddling with the daisy-patterned scarf she had wrapped around her neck and praying she wasn’t going to have to kill Skye when this ill-conceived coffee date inevitably went south. Just because she and tumblr user [engineeringmonkey](http://engineeringmonkey.tumblr.com/) had taken to chatting every day, multiple times a day, via the Internet, it didn’t mean that they would get along in person. It didn’t _matter_ that Skye insisted they were obviously perfect for each other; he could just be pretending to be someone else online.

Initially, safety had been one of Jemma’s primary motives for suggesting this busy shop. Now that she was here, however, it felt rather like the whole world was going to be watching her inevitable embarrassment.

And was it even a coffee _date_? They’d just agreed to meet for coffee (or tea) because Fitz (the only name he’d ever given her online) had so little time in San Francisco. Perhaps he didn’t see this romantically, despite Skye’s flippant assurances that he’d be an idiot to not want to “hit that.” (Jemma surmised that the “that” in this case was herself, and the “hitting” actually referred to the act of copulation, although she’d squinted at her best friend for a good few seconds when she’d first used the phrase.)

Besides, Jemma wasn’t even sure whether or not she _wanted_ him to see this romantically – there were simply too many unknown variables in the experiment of this meeting for her to be able to form an accurate hypothesis.

“Um... Jemma?”

The Scottish accent caught her so by surprise that she just stared at the speaker for a solid two seconds before being able to react. She’d known that he was from Scotland but, somehow, she hadn’t expected him to have an accent – which she abruptly realized was a ludicrous side-effect of them only ever having spoken via the written word. He was a few inches taller and pastier than her, skinny as a twig, and implausibly handsome for someone as intelligent as she knew him to be, with curly, sand-brown hair and enchantingly blue eyes.

When she didn’t answer immediately, he shifted from one trainer-clad foot to the next, and a distinct flush crept into his cheeks. “Er, [biochemjedi](http://biochemjedi.tumblr.com/)?”

“Fitz?” she squeaked, and then lurched up out of her seat. 

His shoulders relaxed and he let out a small huff. “Oh, thank god, I thought – I mean, how many girls could be wearing daisy scarves, y’know? But....”

“No,” she spluttered, talking over him and clinging to her mobile for dear life, “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting... um....” _You to be well formed_ and _brilliant all at once, bloody hell._ “It’s so good to finally meet you!” She instinctively reached out with both arms for a hug, which caused him to stiffen, realize what she was doing, and then reach haltingly around her shoulders. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s great,” Fitz muttered against her hair as they shared the world’s most awkward first hug. The shy smile he gave her when they separated was genuine, lighting up his face as he studied hers. “It was just really sudden, the conference, so I’m glad you were free.”

“Oh, I’m head of my division,” she said, sliding back into her chair across from him. “It wasn’t hard to schedule the time away.”

A waitress bustled over to take their order, and Jemma used the distraction to surreptitiously make sure her hair was in place. She’d noted that Fitz had on a very light amount of cologne, and he’d chosen to wear a tie, a clothing item about which she’d seen him complain in multiple tumblr posts. Perhaps Skye had been wise to suspect that there might be romantic undertones to this meeting after all.

 

_One Year Later_

The low _oof_ Fitz let out as Jemma tackled him backwards onto her bed was almost funny enough to distract her from kissing him. Almost. But she was very intent on her current task, which mostly involved figuring out how quickly she could get him to make those wonderful little groans while just moving her lips and tongue against his pulse point. Her legs were propped on either side of his hips, and his hands were getting delightfully close to her bum. Pity he was so gentlemanly. 

“It’s – been – far – too – long,” Jemma managed to get out, peppering kisses all over his face and eliciting a breathless chuckle.

“I know, but I’m only at Monterey for another week, and –”

“IknowIknowIknow,” she breathed, nuzzling in for another heated kiss. “It’s not as if I’ve had time to get to the East Coast, either. But I _hate_ it.”

“Guess that’s the problem with tumblr – everyone you meet’s half a world away.” He gave her a lopsided grin, and she leaned back to rest her chin on his chest, brows drawing wryly together.

“Are you sure that’s tumblr’s _only_ problem...?” she trailed off, smiling at the eyeroll he gave her in return. 

“I actually....” Fitz stopped to clear his throat, and his eyes drifted away from hers and up to the ceiling above her bed. “I was offered a job in Berkeley last week. Outta the blue. I mean, sorta – I worked with their new department head a couple years back, so... yeah. Full time. Pay’s bloody fantastic.”

“Oh.” Jemma felt like her heart was about to pound its way straight out of her chest. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Dunno,” he said, eyes flitting back to hers and away again. His fingers drummed nervously against the back of her thigh, making her twitch a little. “Would you... mind... if I moved to San Francisco?" 

“You could move in with me!” Her voice was too high-pitched, and the way he snapped his gaze back to hers made her realize what that had probably sounded like. “I – I didn’t mean... not like _that_ , because – we – we haven’t been, um, you know, dating for that long, not really, but, um....” She covered her face with one hand and she felt more than heard him stifle a laugh beneath her. “I have that spare room, and the rent increase this summer was _ghastly_ , and....” Pausing, Jemma peeked at him from in between her fingers. “It would be really nice not to have to commute across a continent to see you.”

A wide smile spread across his face, giving her the courage to stop hiding and lean down for more kisses. Perhaps tumblr had its share of problems, but it had also introduced this [biochemjedi](http://biochemjedi.tumblr.com/) to her very own [engineeringmonkey](http://engineeringmonkey.tumblr.com/), and for that Jemma was deeply grateful.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG for "implications," lol. 
> 
> Huntingbird POV. Set either in the future or current canon ca. 3x11-3x13, and only makes any sense if you've watched the [3x13 sneak peek](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgBlQojNoV4).
> 
> [Original post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/141231735438/code).

For once, the base was peaceful during mealtime, and Bobbi was looking forward to spending the rest of the evening doing some PT on her knee and working out - and then “working out” with Hunter. At the moment, he was sitting next to her in front of the common room television and noshing on a just-popped bag of popcorn while they chatted about their last mission. 

Footsteps strode into the nearby lab, drawing Bobbi’s attention, and she watched as Lincoln poked his head through the door of the common room.

“Hey,” he said, brows adorably furrowed. “You guys seen Fitz or Simmons?”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow at Hunter, who shrugged. They’d said goodbye to the two scientists for the night a while ago, but she wasn’t exactly sure how to tactfully explain their early absence. 

“They’re,” Hunter started, pausing to make air quotes as he spoke, “‘watching a documentary’ in Fitz’s room.”

“Oh great,” Lincoln breathed, and then jogged in the direction of the residence halls.

“Wait -” Bobbi called out, cringing, but Hunter batted her outstretched arm down.

“If he doesn’t know what ‘watching a documentary’ is code for, that’s his own fault.”

She rolled her eyes. “When have you ever heard _anyone_  use ‘watching a documentary’ as code for _anything_?”

Hunter took a few seconds to chew on his popcorn. “Clearly you’ve never gone undercover at a prep school.”

In the distance, they heard a rather unmanly screech, and a few seconds later Lincoln walked unsteadily past the common room door.

“Alright there, mate?” 

Bobbi elbowed Hunter, whose face was fixed in an aggressively innocent expression. Eyes unnaturally wide, Lincoln turned towards them and swallowed thickly.

“Yeah - I, um… can… fine. Tomorrow’s fine.” With that, he escaped down the hall with a distinct shiver.

“Wanna bet on how many days it’ll take for him to stop having nerd sex nightmares?” Hunter’s grin was altogether too self-satisfied, so Bobbi whacked him on the back of the head and turned back to the television.

A few seconds passed.

“Five days, twenty bucks.”

“Eight days,” he answered smugly, holding out the popcorn bowl. “And deal.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as the fourth of my [500k Giveaway 500-word drabbles](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/139604843563/agentverbivore-congratulations), for [popsicle86](http://popsicle86.tumblr.com)! Thank you for the prompt, & I hope you like it!
> 
> The request: ""The Wedding Night" for the [Crime AU](http://archiveofourown.org/series/203822)." I'm not sure this is exactly what you had in mind, but considering the 500-word goal length, I hope you enjoy it anyway!
> 
> Rated PG. Takes place a few months after the events of [Hideaway in Daylight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3882523), so spoilers within for those fics, although it can certainly be read as a standalone flufflet.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/141315647308/just-us-a-crime-au-flufflet).

Fitz collapsed face-first onto Jemma’s bed, groaning as pitifully as he could manage. Mid-dinner hour, the Playground was buzzing energetically outside the door as she locked it, but all he could think about was falling asleep as quickly as possible. Preferably without changing his clothes first. Or moving.

“Why are weddings so much bloody work?” He had to repeat himself so Jemma could hear him, since the first time his words were muffled by her comforter. 

“I think it’s a couple’s first test,” she teased, scooting up next to him on the bed and curling around his side. “See how much torture they can stand before spending the rest of their lives together.” Her fingers began to card through his hair, and Fitz sighed, leaning into her touch. 

“We’ve already survived Hydra, the Wellers, and an insane former SHIELD student. How much more of a test do we really need?” She laughed against his skin, lips feathering over the back of his neck, and he let out a low hum.

“Feeling better?”

Twisting himself around, he pulled her up, bunching both their shirts against their stomachs. The aim was reaching her mouth with his own, and, after maneuvering somewhat inelegantly until she was lying on top of him, he grinned briefly in triumph. 

“Much,” Fitz murmured, nuzzling in and parting her lips. As ever, Jemma’s kisses were the perfect balm for all his ills – even unreliable florists and caterers. After a few minutes of blissful oblivion, he dropped his head back against the bed, smoothing her hair away from her face. The expression she wore as she watched him was one he finally recognized – only after having been romantically involved for over a year by now – as pure adoration. It still took his breath away every time.

Perversely, the day’s annoyances made him long for when they’d first been undercover, and their relationship had been one to be watched by others but not discussed as it was now, by the many, many other people involved in planning the wedding. “Can’t we just elope?”

“Skye would kill us,” she retorted, and he let out a low noise of frustration. As usual, Jemma was right; their best friend would be furious (or, more likely, heartbroken) if they got married without her there.

“At least that’d be quick and painless,” he griped, twirling his fingers around the ends of her hair.

“You _do_ remember that we’re talking about Skye, right?” He rolled his eyes, and she nuzzled in for more kisses, trailing her lips along his jaw until she reached a particular spot that always made his vision fuzz around the edges. “You know,” she breathed against his skin, “we were talking about the wedding night earlier.” 

Distracted from the arousal her lips had been stoking, Fitz frowned and tilted his head to see her better. “What?”

Settling herself along his side rather than draped over him, Jemma chuckled. “She was teasing about the noise again, wondering if she should get a room in a different hotel.”

Warmth bloomed in his cheeks, and he shifted so he was lying on his side, facing her. “D’you think she’ll ever stop with that?”

“Probably not,” she replied lightly, although he couldn’t quite bring himself to return her smile. “What is it, Fitz? Do you want me to ask her to stop? She’s just –”

“No, I know. S’not that.” He exhaled, watching the air stir the ends of her hair. “Sometimes... ah, I dunno. For the wedding – I feel like we’re performing again. It’s not just us, y’know?” Pressing their foreheads together and forcing himself to meet her gaze, he gave her a small smile. “I like it best when it’s just us.”

Seeming almost shocked, she stared back at him in silence for a few, long moments. Not feeling the need to fill the space between them with anything else, Fitz ticked up the corner of his mouth and busied himself with brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek, taking supreme joy that they didn't have to be anything other than themselves now that they were alone.

“I love you,” Jemma blurted out, surprising him with the tremulousness of her voice. Then she tugged him forward by his collar, pressing their lips fervently together until pulling abruptly away again.

“What –?”

“The wedding is just,” she started, brows pulling together as she changed tact mid-sentence, “it’s the beginning, another beginning, and then when it’s over it’ll be just us, forever. Okay?” 

Still slightly confused by his fiancée’s uncharacteristic bout of emotion, Fitz nuzzled against the hand she had cupped against his cheek. “Yeah – yeah, course it will be.”

Some tension in her shoulders relaxed as she watched him, and she tucked herself in beneath his chin, arms curling between their chests. “The wedding will be over soon enough. And, I know it’s a lot of work but I... I’m quite excited,” she murmured shyly. “I’ve always... I know the traditions are rather silly, and rooted in ludicrous superstitions, but – I’ve always wanted to have a wedding. Be a bride, that sort of thing. Look like a princess.”

Fitz chuckled, having discovered over the past year or so that Jemma had a romantic streak a mile wide that she’d previously kept to herself. “If you look any prettier than you do on a normal day, I’m not sure I’m even gonna be able to look at you.” She tutted and made a feeble swat at his chest, pressing her face against his neck. “I’ll probably recover once we’re in the hotel room, though.” 

Giggling, Jemma gave her head a fond shake. “Yes, I’ve found that my nakedness usually cheers you right up.”

He hummed in agreement and wormed one hand up the back of her shirt. “Too bad that wouldn’t work in the lab. I could use it more days than not...” he trailed off, grinning at the way her laughter was making her shoulders shake. In truth, being around Jemma in general made him about as happy as he thought would ever possibly be; any nudity (or the activities that usually followed) was a bonus. 

“No lab sex,” she admonished, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “At least, not unless there’s been an evacuation of the base and all of the security feeds are off.”

Playing along, he made an exaggerated “ _aw_ ” of disappointment and fended off her feigned swat. “I suppose the bed will have to do for the wedding night.” 

Jemma let out a laugh-snort, and leaned up to whisper into his ear. “There’s more than just a bed in that hotel room, you know. I’ve done research.”

A bevy of possibilities flashed through his mind, each more tantalizing than the last, and he angled her head up for a languid kiss whose heat held just as much promise for that forthcoming night as it did for this one. “You’re my favorite person,” he murmured, breath catching and eyes rolling briefly up as he realized that her hands were already wandering down exactly where he wanted them.

“Yes, I am,” Jemma replied smugly, and shortly thereafter Fitz completely forgot why he’d been so tired when he’d collapsed onto her bed in the first place. Wedding planning could certainly wait until tomorrow.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as the fifth (and final) of my [500k Giveaway 500-word drabbles](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/139604843563/agentverbivore-congratulations), for [deafangellove](http://deafangellove.tumblr.com)! Thank you for the prompt, & I hope you like it!
> 
> Written partially for the [FS Kiss Prompt Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/FSKissPromptCollection), for _"sticky ice cream kisses."_
> 
> The request: "My friend dragged me to this party, but I really don't want to be here, and I've seen you in around campus, and I was just wondering, do you want to go get an ice cream or something?"
> 
> Rated PG. College AU.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/141623891153/red-solo-cups-ice-cream). [Gifset](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/141720977475/fitzsimmons-in-college-au-the-party).

Leopold Fitz was very confused. And aroused. But mostly confused.

Until about an hour ago, he’d been at a horrendous college-wide party just off campus. One of the guys who lived down the hall had decided to take Fitz under his wing in recent weeks, and had refused to budge his foot from Fitz’s door until he’d agreed to go. The party, unsurprisingly, had been both painful, in terms of boredom, and uncomfortable, in terms of his general preference for pubs over frats. But then he’d run into Jemma Simmons and everything had changed. 

“Were you dragged here, too?”

It was an unusual opening salvo, to be sure, but somehow it worked anyway. In his objective opinion, she was the most intelligent and interesting person on campus, and the only one he was actually interested in spending any time with (outside of the chimps in the psychology lab). Fitz had only recently figured out something smart enough to say to her in chem lab, so he didn’t want to break his current lucky streak. 

“Kicking and screaming,” he muttered over the rim of his red solo cup, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I actually enjoy going out, but this...” she trailed off as he nodded emphatically.

“Not your crowd,” he offered, and she returned his nod. They’d both been at a party thrown by a few of the advanced physicists near campus a couple months back, and as far as he’d been able to determine from across the room – half-hidden by a crowd of like-minded nerds – Jemma had been enjoying herself immensely. (He hadn’t been staring at her, mind – he’d just seen her laugh once or twice and wished that he could think of anything to say to elicit the same reaction. There was something about the sound of her laugh that he found indisputably appealing.) 

“Want to get out of here?" 

The offer was abrupt, but there was a hopeful light in her eyes that he couldn’t bring himself to dash. If he was being honest with himself, he suspected that he wouldn’t be able to deny her anything she asked of him. (Short of requesting his assistance on a dissection.) So Fitz found himself returning a relieved “yes” and following her out the door, dumping his empty cup in what was probably a trashcan on the way out.

As they wandered along the semi-residential streets towards a more populated area of town, he was almost distracted from his nerves by how easy it was to talk to her. Being rather heartily underage in this country – and not the most experienced of drinkers – he hadn’t had more than one (enormous) cup of beer, so he didn’t think it was the alcohol that made him feel so comfortable wandering by Jemma’s side and talking about everything from chemistry to television to engineering. That didn’t quite stop him from being convinced that at any second he was going to say something to chase off the one person on this campus that he could truly see himself befriending, but at least that fear wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps he had the beer to thank for that after all.

They ended up at an ice cream shop a couple blocks down from the freshman dorms, a destination which Fitz decided was one of Jemma’s most brilliant ideas to date (mostly because his stomach had been rumbling for half an hour). This, however, was precisely when things began to get weird.

Once seated, Jemma pulled her chair around so that her hip was nearly pressed against his. That in itself did not immediately catch Fitz’s attention; they often sat with their stools right next to each other in the lab. But then she leaned towards him, and as she spoke he was distracted from her words by the fact that she was close enough that he could count the freckles on her cheeks. 

“Would you like a taste?”

It took Fitz a few seconds to realize that she was holding her ice cream cone towards him, and he prayed that the warmth in his skin wasn’t visible. “Uh, yeah. What’d you get?”

“Dark chocolate raspberry,” she chirped, and he tried not to feel self-conscious as he took a large lick from the proffered side of her scoop.

“Not bad.” He ran his tongue around his lips and reached for a paper napkin, studiously not looking at her. “Might get that one next time.” After a few seconds, he realized that she was staring expectantly back at him, and he stifled a cringe at his own cluelessness. “Would you...?”

Jemma nodded eagerly, already leaning forward to swipe her tongue along the green curve of his ice cream. His throat tightened as he watched her tongue disappear inside her mouth, pink smeared with green, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

“Oh, that’s nice! I’ve always liked mint chocolate chip. It’s comforting, like these chocolates my dad kept by his chair to eat after dinner.”

Something about the color or the wetness of her mouth forced a slew of completely inappropriate thoughts into Fitz’s head, the kind that he’d never had about his lab partner before and that he felt deeply guilty about having now. So he dropped his eyes and shoved his scoop at his own mouth, taking a large bite and wincing at the near-immediate brain freeze this caused. 

Pausing as she returned to her own scoop, Jemma frowned and placed one hand on his arm. “Fitz, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he choked out in between holding his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Just – really like ice cream.”

“I can tell,” she teased, and then, before he knew what was happening, she’d licked her thumb and reached forward to stroke it beneath his lower lip. 

And so this was how Leopold Fitz ended up sitting in an ice cream shop next to Jemma Simmons, feeling somehow both acutely confused and aroused all at once. His gaze drifted down to her lips and he swallowed thickly, darting his tongue out to lick at the place she’d just cleaned.

“There,” she said, thankfully oblivious to his current discombobulated state as she returned her hand to her own leg (mere millimeters though it was from his).

Abruptly, Fitz realized that she might consider this more than just two friends and fellow students eating ice cream. It had been her suggestion to begin with, and _she_ was the one who had moved her chair unnecessarily close to him. After a few seconds of internal panic, he realized that he had only a few-second opening to determine the answer to his question without any potential ill consequences.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “You’ve, ah...” he said, trailing off as her eyes met his. Rather than finish the sentence, Fitz licked the pad of his thumb and reached up to rub it just underneath her bottom lip, stroking up to where a dab of chocolate had caught in the corner.

He left his hand on her cheek for just a second too long, busy observing how her pupils dilated and her mouth bowed in a surprised “oh” as he moved. Unsure what her reactions meant, he dropped his hand and gave her a weak smile.

“We’re right messes, eh?”

Jemma blinked and then turned to stare hard at her ice cream cone, as if it had the answer to one of Professor Vaughn’s trickiest questions. The ice cream shop was agonizingly quiet around them, and Fitz took a few half-hearted licks of his own, rapidly dwindling scoop. Now all he had to do was find a way to change the subject and pretend that his uncharacteristic moment of physical contact had been completely innocent. (And to get his brain to stop fixating on the pink flush of her lips, thanks to the ice cream’s cold.)

Before he could think of something clever enough, he found himself abruptly incapable of breathing as Jemma had tugged him forward by his collar and pressed their lips together. His eyes widened and he made a very unmanly squeak against her mouth, but this didn’t seem to deter her. Instead, she shifted closer and caressed his lips with hers ever-so-slightly before darting her tongue out against his top lip. Fitz’s head was spinning before he even snapped his eyelids shut, unceremoniously dumping his cone into the paper bowl the shop had provided and wrapping his arms around Jemma’s shoulders.

A small giggle crept out of her throat, and he pulled back, panting a little too heavily for such a short kiss, to study her face. She was beaming up at him, cone held over the table in one hand and the other still curled tightly into his shirt.

“I should’ve known that you wouldn’t waste your dessert.”

Giving her a wry look, he reached for her cone and dropped it on top of his. His only response taken care of, Fitz curled his hands underneath her chin and pressed their mouths together once again. 

When she angled his mouth open, slipping her tongue over his bottom lip, he nearly stopped breathing. Each brush of their lips and tongues was sweet and sticky, and he had the vague realization that he might be getting ice cream on her neck, where his one thumb was absently stroking her skin. A smile ticked up his lips when they paused for breath, his eyes just as bright as hers, and he decided that dark chocolate raspberry and mint chocolate chip were much better when tasted together. Nuzzling at his nose, she ghosted their lips together again and Fitz tried his best to keep up, still confused and aroused but deciding that both things were probably acceptable right now. 

The next day – when he woke up to see Jemma fast asleep on his dorm bed while he kipped on the floor, and then grinned so wide it hurt – he would wonder if he had a red solo cup to thank for the fact that his lab partner was almost definitely something more than that now. If their respective drinks had afforded them both a level of confidence that neither had normally. 

For the moment, however, Fitz was far too busy to think much at all. And for him, that was saying something.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a hard T. Future fic. 
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/132271507728/if-im-in-time-fitzsimmons-pda-kissing).

Logically, Fitz knew that this was a bad idea. He knew that the other scientists were only on their lunch breaks, and he  _knew_  that the outer walls of the lab were glass, and therefore completely unsuited to this kind of behavior anyway. But Jemma’s lips were trailing over his collarbone, her legs were wrapped around his waist, and the way she was rolling her hips against him was making it  _really difficult_  to remember all of those reasons. Hell, he could barely remember his name.

“Jemma,” he gasped, splaying his fingers out against the wall behind the lab table that they were a few clothes short of defiling. “They’re gonna - be back - any minute.”

“I know,” she muttered, warm breath washing over his skin and making him shiver. “I just -” His hips gave an instinctive buck against her and a low whine sounded from her throat. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you in that shirt.”

He paused from where he’d been about to work up a hickey at the join of her neck and shoulder, brows furrowing as he glanced down at the ordinary blue button-up he’d thrown on this morning. “Really?”

Sliding one hand up his chest to bring his mouth back to hers, Jemma let out a quiet moan of agreement. “I really owe Bobbi a fruit basket,” she murmured against his lips, other hand reaching around to hold him flush against her.

“Hey guys, Coulson was wondering if -  _arrrggghhh_!” 

Skye had been through a lot with them, but Fitz was pretty sure he’d never heard her scream so loudly or with such pure, unadulterated horror. He twisted around to see her frozen in the middle of the lab, a file dropped at her feet and gloved hands covering her eyes. “I’m just -” she said, voice squeakier than normal. “I’m gonna come back later. After I go to Tahiti to get rid of….” She turned around, eyes firmly shut as she waved a hand in their direction. “ _That_.” A brief shiver of disgust worked through her shoulders, and then she strode quickly into the hallway, file lying forgotten on the floor. 

Although Fitz was pretty sure his face was beet red, it was hard to feel too upset as he heard Jemma let out something between a snort and a giggle against his shoulder. Turning to meet her eyes, a laugh worked out of his throat too, until both of them were leaning against each other, giggling hysterically. So maybe this hadn’t been the best idea for a make-out spot - but now they had something to torment their friend with, and  _that_  definitely sounded like a good result.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a hard T/light M, for brief sexual content. Future fic. 
> 
> (Begun immediately after 3x09 aired, halted, and then rewritten. The image just wouldn't quite leave me be.)
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/142184520873/scars).

Heat.

That’s all Jemma can think: Heat.

Curling through her, surrounding her, in Fitz’s hands on her skin and his lips on her neck and his tongue… _oh_ , his tongue doing something spectacular just above the curve of her collarbone. He’s whispering her name, asking a question, but there’s a fog in her mind and all she can think to do is go searching for the source. Her hands grab roughly onto his hair and angle his mouth up so she can reach it with hers, a low, shocked noise reverberating out from his chest. There’s too much teeth, her nails are digging too hard into his scalp, but Jemma can’t stop herself because now that they’ve started she just desperately needs more.

A light push of his hips sends her shuffling backwards toward the bed, both of them trying to unbutton their shirts while their mouths move frantically together, unwilling to lose even a moment of touch. Jemma releases a small noise of triumph once her shirt is discarded and wraps her arms immediately around his neck, already feeling like that small distance was far too much. Although he takes one second longer, Fitz immediately returns his hands to her hips, sliding them over her skin, palms nearly scorching and exactly where she wants them… until he freezes. His thumbs brush again over the edges of the scar tissue courtesy of Hydra’s Inhuman torturer, and she feels all the desire disappear from him in a rush.

“Jemma…?”

Sighing, she loosens her grip enough so that he can draw back to stare at her abdomen, crisscrossed with scars born of metal and a very different kind of heat.

“Those bastards,” Fitz mutters, sinking down to his knees so that his eye-line is even with her stomach.

Jemma feels like she should say something - tell him that it’s okay, that compared to believing that she would never see him again and living in a far-flung wasteland, undergoing a brief bout of torture was infinitely bearable. But she’s never seen Fitz look so abruptly haunted, wet shining at the corners of his eyes as he settles one hand at her hip and brings the other up to trace the dark pink, puckered flesh. She inhales sharply, her muscles twitching as his fingers skim over places very unused to touch. The injuries have long since healed, and she hasn't even mourned her newfound inability to wear either bikinis or midriff-baring tops. Neither had held any appeal to her before her time at SHIELD, so the loss is far from great. 

“I should’ve…” Fitz whispers brokenly, leaning forward to press his cheek against the healed wounds and wrap his arms tightly around her waist. “Should’ve been me.”

“No,” she exclaims, her voice loud and abrupt in the otherwise still room. “Fitz, no, that’s the last thing I’d want!” He sniffles, and she reaches down to angle his head up, making eye contact through the dip of her bra and breasts. “Do you really think I would have done better if it had been you?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, perhaps a bit more petulantly than he meant. 

“It just…” she trails off on a sigh. “It happened, Fitz. There’s no point in… in wishing for something else.”

Silence lingers between them, with Jemma studying the deep, wavering blue of his irises in the dim room and Fitz staring intently at the scars on her stomach. She cards her fingers through his hair, trying to bring his attention back up to her, where she wants it, but instead he leans forward again to press a tender kiss to one of the biggest scars. It’s a jagged thing, the knife having meandered across her skin and wringing out screams that she couldn’t hold back. Now, the skin is dark pink but flat, a surface wound, and Fitz ghosts his lips from one end of the healed flesh to the other. Her stomach muscles twitch under the feather-light touch, and as he moves to another scar she sets her teeth into her bottom lip.  

Arousal follows the trail of his mouth across her skin, the heat no longer searing and yet somehow better, wanting spreading deep within her, to a point that’s almost unnerving in its intensity. Fitz maps her scars with his lips and Jemma tightens her fingers in his hair, breath coming short and eyes nearly fluttering shut. His eyes flit upwards, catching her gaze, and her brain stutters as she realizes what he’s trying to tell her. _I love every part of you_ , she can almost hear in his voice. The mingled sadness and adoration in his expression as he watches her, chin pressed to her stomach and arms wrapped firmly around her, somehow both stuns her and makes her feel safe all at once. 

“I love you, Fitz,” she breathes, so quietly that at first she isn’t sure she said it out loud. 

He blinks, and then a smile breaks across his face, a beam of light through rustling leaves. As he scrambles back up to his feet, Jemma feels like she’s finally brought him back into the moment and out of the past, giving him a shy smile of her own as he cups her chin in his hands.  

“I love you, Jemma,” he murmurs at last, eyes searching hers, so close that their noses and lips brush as he speaks. “I _love_  you.” 

Fitz presses in for a slow-burning, dizzying kiss, breaking away with every brush of their lips to whisper those three words over and over again, as if he couldn’t get enough of saying them. As he lays his mouth against her most sensitive places, as he slides fully inside her, as she presses her hands against his shoulders and arches into him, he loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and she loves him right back.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set under the premise “what if May had waited juuust a bit longer before walking into the server room” during 3x20.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/144180596663/bigfunnywords-replied-to-your-post-give-them).

“Any plans?” 

A grin flashed across Jemma’s face, quicker than the lights scattered along the server bay. Fitz hadn’t been sure how she’d feel about him flirting while they were working - he was still figuring this out, this new them, the wonderful balance of their romantic relationship - but any and all worries disappeared as she tangled their fingers together. She was always beautiful, but something about the glint in her eyes as she stepped into his space tonight was particularly bewitching.

“I don’t know, Doctor Fitz,” Jemma murmured, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I suppose I’ll have to ask my boyfriend about that.”

“You have another one somewhere?” he quipped, and she let out a noise between a groan and a giggle. The sound of her laugh in that moment was worth any reprimand she chose to give him, and he bit back his own smile.

“ _Ugh,_ Fitz,” she huffed, tugging on his arm to bring his mouth down to hers. Fitz met her kiss willingly, happily, reaching up to slide his free hand into her hair. When she parted her lips and he darted his tongue inside, Jemma made that wonderful, low noise that he’d heard for the first time so very recently. One of his new life goals was to hear her make that sound as often as possible - and Fitz had always been rather good at achieving his goals. 

The rest of the world fell away around them. Her fingers flexed in his, her lips were soft and warm, and she was holding just as tightly to him as he was to her. They had so much to worry about, so much work to do and so little time to do it in, but everything felt just a bit more manageable while he was holding Jemma in his arms. 

Footsteps echoed down the Playground’s concrete and brick hallway, and Jemma leapt away from Fitz, dropping his hand and raising hers to adjust her hair. A part of him cursed May’s poor timing, even though she was right to have come for them when she did.

As he returned to work, Fitz supposed he should be grateful for their lack of interruptions at other key moments recently. It would’ve been far worse, for example, for Mack to have barged in on them in Bucharest.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a **hard M**.
> 
> What Jemma really meant by "snorkeling" in 3x21.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/144535273923/snorkeling).

 [[ [MOVED OVER TO "SEYCHELLES SNAPSHOTS" TO COMPLY WITH THIS COLLECTION'S T-RATING](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6979042/chapters/18839623). ]]


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of my [2 Years of FitzSimmons Fic Giveaway on tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/144759737253/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the). 
> 
> Rated G. 1920's bootlegger!Fitz AU.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/144918421502/congratulations-on-two-years-of-fic-were-very).

Smoky dens and buxom babes had never been Fitz’s milieu, and yet he found himself spending every night around such things anyway. His engineering degree didn’t come cheap, and, as his mum liked to point out, if he wanted to become the next James Watt, he had to pay his dues. So Fitz worked nights and days, tinkering in the storeroom of Coulson’s speakeasy when he could spare a moment, and practically every second of his life ran together in a blur of feathers, grease, and jazz music. Until the girl with the notebook began following him, that is.

He didn’t notice her until she almost ran straight into him as he made a quick return from the stock room, and he realized she’d been there each of the previous three nights, too. When he grabbed onto her shoulders to steady them both, his pulse quickened, as Fitz had never been so close to a beautiful woman before. She stared up at him with wide, enchanting brown eyes, red lips bowed in surprise, and he had to shake himself back to sense as he dropped his hands.

“What d’you want?”

“Oh,” she said, giving him an awkward laugh and flicking her fingers overly casually against the filthy wooden walls. “Just looking for the loo, you know. Before I go back to drinking. Lots. Of the rum.”

There was a lot for Fitz to take in for such a small amount of words. First of all, she was English, which caught him off guard - the parts of New York in which he spent his time were home to few Brits with an accent that posh. Secondly, she was lying, so poorly it was almost endearing.

“Call me Jemma,” she blurted out, and then looked like she wished the floor would swallow her whole. “I mean, that’s my name.”

“You followed me back here to tell me your name?”

She gaped at him for a moment, and then let out a wry chuckle. “Actually, yes. Sort of. But I don’t… I’m not….” With an abrupt groan, she buried her face in her hands - or, in one hand, and the cover of her notebook. “I’m top of my class and smarter than my parents know what to do with, and I couldn’t flirt if my life depended on it.” The last was nearly muffled by her hands but Fitz caught it anyway, and if he hadn’t already been suspicious of her he would have laughed. 

“I’m getting Coulson,” he said gruffly, moving to stride past her to where his boss was probably schmoozing with the crowd, or giving unnecessary pointers to his bartender, Hunter. “There’s no reason for you to be back here -”

“No,” she exclaimed, and then grabbed him tightly by the wrist. “Maybe there is.”

Sighing, he turned back to meet her gaze, her brain clearly whirring under her carefully-styled waves of hair. After swallowing a couple of times, she rambled out her explanation so fast that Fitz could barely keep up, her words tripping over each other as she tried to get everything out as quickly as possible.

“I’ve been watching you, you see, because I don’t come to places like this, I don’t have any desire to break the law, thankyouverymuch, but my friend Bobbi has terrible taste in men, and she uses me as a cover for her parents, and I noticed that you seem to be different from all of the other men who work here, because you’re quiet and pasty and you don’t have muscles bursting at the seams -”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” he tried interrupting, but she barreled right over him.

“But I think you must be very clever, because you’re in charge of the bootlegging, and I couldn’t figure out why, and then I realized that you build things - machines, trap doors, I don’t know - that help the actual rum-runners do their jobs, and I thought that someone like you must be very brave and very smart to do something like that, on top of being rather handsome, and I want you to show me how to do it.”

Blinking, Fitz had to take a second for his brain to catch up with her mouth. This one was an odd bird indeed; she’d gone from calling him quiet and pasty to handsome in two seconds flat. 

“How to do what?”

Jemma squared her shoulders, looking very much like she was about to take the plunge off of a 90-foot cliff.  “Bootlegging.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Requested Anastasia AU as part of my anniversary giveaway, so this takes place in some 'verse where there were Scottish Czars & the “isles” are under 1920′s-era Communist rule.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/145056923002/prompt-for-your-fitzsimmons-drabble-thing).

Jemma and Skye had been using Holyrood Palace as their base of operations and home for a handful of weeks, blissfully undisturbed by any contenders to the space. The locals seemed to think it was haunted by the spirits of the murdered Scottish Czar’s family, and sometimes, in the dead of night when she wondered how her choices had led her here, Jemma almost agreed with them. In truth, the wights that wandered the halls were from her memories only, ghosts of her childhood long since past. The kind rulers who had provided her family with some of their happiest memories were all dead, even if she and Skye’s whole scheme depended upon them proving the exact opposite. Best friends since they had grown up in the servant’s quarters of this very palace together, the girls had varying opinions about how well their plan would work (in that Skye was convinced it would, and Jemma was less so). But Edinburgh’s once grandest palace, now an abandoned monument to a system of governance equally ruined, served their purposes well, and as their reputation had grown so did their de facto hold over Holyrood.

So when they heard the distinct clip of footsteps on the grand ballroom’s dusty marble, Jemma’s heart just about leapt into her throat. She was faster out of her seat than Skye, who had to disentangle herself from her long scarf before following, and reached the ballroom alone.

In the middle of the vast, columned room stood a boy in a ragged coat and a maroon cap. He was completely still, as if he were staring very intently at the paintings that spanned the length of the opposite wall.

“Hey,” she called out, taking a few steps forward.

The boy leapt backwards in surprise, dropping something that looked suspiciously like one of the silver dishes that Skye had stolen to help support their venture. Flinching at the loud clang, Jemma watched as the boy began to sprint for a side door, and then took off in hot pursuit of the would-be pilferer.

“Hey,” she yelled, and he slipped on the building’s pervasive layer of dust. “Wait!” His stumble allowed her to catch up and grab onto his arm, twisting him roughly around to face her. “What are you….”

The question died on her lips, however, as she was abruptly certain that she was staring into the face of a ghost. This boy – young man, really, as he looked to be about the same age as she – had the same piercing blue eyes and curly, sandy brown hair of her childhood best friend and the prince whose doppelgänger for whom she and Skye now searched. Jemma blinked and shook her head, bitterly reminding herself that Leopold Fitzgerald, Crown Prince of Scotland, had been murdered that night so many years ago by the thugs who had looted and set fire to this very palace. Trying to save him hadn’t worked back then, and wishing things could be different wouldn’t work now.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, sliding his woolen cap off and further mussing his curls. “I didn’t mean to - I wasn’t stealing that, if that’s what you were thinking. I just saw it, and I thought I remem….” He cringed, tilting his head to the side. “Doesn’t matter.”

He was a native Scot, that much was certain, although his accent was more akin to that of a Glaswegian than the Czar’s family would have spoken. Having brought herself back to reality, Jemma’s gaze slid from him to the aging portraits of the royal family that towered over the room, a grim reminder of the lives that had been sacrificed to the disastrous government with which the islands were now saddled. The ten-year-old boy in the painting, one hand wrapped around a small figurine of a monkey, did bear a striking resemblance to the awkward young man twisting his hat between his hands before her now.

“Are you Simmons?” he ventured, looking hesitant, and Jemma realized that she’d probably been silent for a bit too long. “I was told I could find –”

“Who’s he?” Skye finally came running up to them, slipping on the same patch of dust that had almost sent their visitor to the floor mere moments before. As if on cue, a small dog with curly black hair sped out of the shadows, nipping playfully at Skye’s heels. “What the -”

“Hey,” the boy called out, “Maggie, stop that.”

“Skye,” Jemma said, waving her friend over and keeping her voice low. “Do you see what I see?”

Smiling bemusedly at the dog as it hopped over to its presumptive owner, Skye didn’t look where Jemma was unsubtly nodding her head. “Nope.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, and took Skye’s chin, forcing her to look directly at the boy in front of the portrait. The other girl let out a long “oooooohhhhhhhhh. Yeah, yup, hell yeah.”

“Hello?”

Squaring her shoulders, Jemma turned back to the boy, who straightened into a standing position with the dog now panting happily in his arms.

“If you’re not Simmons –”

“I might be,” she said, attempting to feign casualness and just barely missing Skye’s shoulder as she tried to lean on it. “Why’re you asking?”

“I need travel papers,” he explained, although Jemma wasn’t truly listening anymore, already calculating his clothes size and determining whether or not what they had would fit. “I just got in from Glasgow, and they said at the station that you’re the woman to see, even though I can’t tell you who said that….” He trailed off, turning as she circled him, brows furrowing in annoyance. “Hey, what – why’re you circling me? Were you, what, a vulture in another life?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, pretending to snap herself out of it, “it’s just that you look an awful lot like….” Behind the boy’s back, Skye gave her the ‘cut-off’ signal, and Jemma gave him a wry smile, having learned when to take her friend’s cues. “Never mind. What’s your name?”

“Fitz,” he answered, shifting the dog around so that he could hold out one hand. Her surprise must have been written plainly on her face, because he sighed, letting the dog wriggle out of his arms. “It’s the only one I’ve got, I don’t remember anything else. Had some kind of accident when I was a kid, and….” He shrugged. “So it’s just Fitz.”

What had thrown Jemma so was yet another resemblance to her dead best friend that had to simply be coincidence – the Crown Prince had also only gone by the nickname, although in his case it had been preference rather than necessity. After all, she reminded herself, Fitz was a very common name (in part or whole) on these islands; that didn’t mean anything.

“Well then,” Jemma said, holding out her hand and grasping his in a firm shake. “Fitz it is. Let’s talk about getting you some travel papers.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated light T. 3x21 missing moment, canon-compliant.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/144965426304/possible-prompt-for-your-fanfic-anniversary).

After her talk with Daisy in the containment cell, Jemma needed a few minutes to herself before returning to work, so she headed back to her bunk. Her friend had always been so fierce, so ready to rebound from any setback, that to see her now made Jemma ache with sadness. All the fight had been taken from Daisy by that monster, and she knew all too well what that felt like: Although quite different, it held shades of how Jemma had felt when she’d returned from Maveth, having broken the heart of the man she loved most in this or any world, her own spirit feeling so beaten that she wasn’t sure she could ever recover.

Her mind whirling with these and other worrisome thoughts, her walk through the Playground to the residence halls was rather morose. So seeing Fitz’s impeccably shaped, spandex-clad arse as it disappeared into his room cheered Jemma up immensely.

“Fitz,” she called out, rapping her knuckles on his door, “can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, c’mon in, Jemma.”

She slid through the smallest opening in the door she could, closing it behind her, and then burst immediately into hysterical laughter. The motion capture suit had been a brilliant idea, but it was also probably the least flattering piece of clothing she’d ever seen.

“It went really well, thanks for asking,” he sniffed, picking the black dot stickers off his face one by one.

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, stumbling over to him in an attempt to be comforting that mostly resulted in her using him to support her weight as she kept laughing. “S-sorry, Fitz, but….” Inhaling, she tried to even herself out enough that she could speak - and then nearly doubled over laughing again.

“Did you need something?” His tone was a little more snippy than warranted, but then she remembered how new their romance was, and that she should probably stop laughing at her boyfriend (and his excellent work).

“Oh, Fitz, I really am sorry,” she managed, swiping away the last of her laugh-tears and reaching up to help him pluck off the final stickers. “I just wanted some time alone after speaking to Daisy.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow, dragging the ball-festooned hat off his head. “And I’m what, then?”

“I wasn’t… I’m really glad to see you, actually,” she said quietly, sitting on the edge of his bed and allowing her gaze to drift. “She was….”

Sensing her tone shift, he tossed the hat away and sat next to her, cupping her hands between his. “That bad?”

Jemma nodded. “I know what she feels like, almost.” When he gave her a look of utter confusion, she tilted her head. “Not everything, but - hurting the person you love the most. Even if you don’t mean to. I know what that’s like.” Raising her eyes to his, she gave him a sad smile. “It’s the worst feeling in the world.”

Fitz let out a low breath, and, rather than respond, leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, and then bundled her into his arms. “Jemma….”

“It just brought back some memories,” she murmured, nuzzling into his neck and reveling in the soothing, slightly spicy scent that was her boyfriend and best friend and partner all rolled into one. “I’ll be okay.”

“Course you will,” he said automatically, snugging her even more tightly against himself. “And I’ll be here when you’re not.”

She let out a teary little laugh, flexing her fingers against his back. Sometimes she was struck all over again by how much she adored Fitz and, my God, did it take her breath away.

Then another thought occurred to her, and she giggled. “Fitz.”

Immediately wary, he tensed against her as he felt her laugh. “Yeah?”

“This is a little like hugging a porcupine. But with balls instead of spikes.” They both froze as the words left her mouth, and then collapsed into a simultaneous laughing fit.

“Yeah, well, you really don’t want to talk about balls where this outfit’s concerned,” he deadpanned, disentangling his arms from hers and standing.

Jemma hummed, sidling up behind him as he started unsnapping the gloves. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a smirk, reaching around to slide her hands up the front of his thighs, fingers just grazing the edge of the red triangular patch. “Maybe we do.”

Letting out a strangled noise that was a cross between a protest and excitement, Fitz froze. With a smirk that he most unfortunately couldn’t see, she tugged gently at one of his earlobes with her teeth.

“Keep this here,” she whispered, kissing backwards down his still-clothed shoulder. “For later.”

“Alright,” he rasped, hips twitching a little as she separated from him and moved towards the door. Gathering his wits, he cleared his throat, tossing her a look and reaching for his trousers. “You’re an odd bird.”

“And aren’t you glad for it,” she quipped, stepping through the door with a smile and closing it behind her.

“Definitely!” he called from inside the room, and, striding down the hallway, Jemma grinned even more widely.

The rest of the day was doubtless going to be difficult and painful, but as long as Fitz was by her side (or near it, anyway), she knew she’d be able to weather anything. Being with him always meant that her smile would return, usually sooner rather than later.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Non-SHIELD AU.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/145162484712/congratulations-for-your-milestone-ive-just-read).

Nothing exciting ever happened in Birnam. This was fact, and anyone who thought differently was kidding themselves. The most interesting things they ever got were particularly weird Shakespeare fans who made the trek from Glasgow just so they could laugh at their own forest jokes. From the city himself, Fitz had considered more than once how he would pay someone to get him _out_ of Birnam, but unfortunately his job prevented him from leaving for another two years, one month, and seventeen days. Not that he was counting.

The company had offered him an exorbitant amount of money to do R&D on a new type of rocket fuel, as well as provide them with weaponry consultations while he was at it, and Fitz had initially jumped at the chance. He should have known that the job had sounded too good to be true, and the isolation of the development facility was high on his list of reasons why he couldn’t wait to leave this little town in Perthshire for good. Convinced that this would always be the case, Fitz went through the motions of living in the Scottish countryside without ever trying to find a reason why he would stay. So it made complete sense that, one gray afternoon, said reason would literally knock him on his arse.

Off work early and desperately trying to find something with which to amuse himself, he was taking a shortcut through the cottage-lined lanes to get to Birnam’s so-called high street when someone crashed right into him. Finding himself abruptly on his arse in a puddle, Fitz took a second to ascertain that no limbs were broken before he found himself being accosted by the fluttering hands of his attacker.

“Oh _no_ , oh I’m so sorry! Are you hurt? Can I help you up? I’m a doctor – well, I have two doctorates, and technically neither of them is in the medical sciences, but I’ve read quite a lot about medical care and….” The young woman now crouching over him continued to ramble on, holding onto one of his arms as if she would hoist him up onto her shoulder to take him to the hospital herself if he needed care.

The first thing he noticed about her was her English accent, which was not especially usual to hear this far outside of the city. Second of all, she was implausibly beautiful, the sun creating a halo effect around her head that made it difficult to look at her straight on. Thirdly, she was carrying a notebook with the logo of his employer, and this was what truly stuck with him. Most of the people at his job were painfully dull, and the prospect of meeting someone, _anyone_ new caught his attention.

“I’m fine,” he said, interrupting and giving her a wan smile as he pushed himself to his feet. “Been a shite day, figures I’d find the one puddle left from last week’s thunderstorm.”

“Oh _nooooo_ ,” she repeated, having evidently not noticed the splash from his fall, and then promptly leaned around to stare at his bum. This was not the reaction he’d been hoping for. “Can I –?”

“Nope, uh, I’ll be fine.” Tugging his jumper down over the uncomfortably cold wet patch, he tried to suppress his own lingering grumpiness so as to avoid chasing her away. “So, uh, d’you often travel to other principalities to accost total strangers? Or am I the first?” He winced; that was not nearly as un-grumpy as he’d intended.

Fortunately, she only laughed, tucking loose locks of dark, wavy hair behind her ear. “No, oh dear, I really _am_ sorry. I’ve just taken a job near town, you see, but I don’t start until tomorrow, so I wanted to explore a little while I had time –”

Raising an eyebrow, Fitz waved one hand at the street. “And you couldn’t resist all this excitement…?”

When she smiled again, it was almost bashful, her teeth nibbling briefly at her bottom lip before she spoke. “I was here once before, actually, when I was a girl. And I think…” she trailed off and pointed at a whitewashed cottage a couple houses down from where they stood. “I think that’s my dream cottage.”

He couldn’t help his grin this time. “Your _dream_ cottage.”

“Yes, here,” she said, flipping open the notebook to reveal a faded picture paper-clipped to the cover. “I just remember thinking it was so lovely. I requisitioned my mum’s camera to take –”

Fitz’s bark of laughter stopped her mid-sentence, and he tilted his head at her bemusement. “Sorry, I’ve just never heard someone say ‘requisitioned’ like that before – you mean ‘stole,’ yeah? You stole your mum’s –”

“Requisitioned,” she insisted primly, snapping the notebook shut again. “I returned it, after all, and she saw me take it. But that’s not the point –”

“That you requisitioned her camera.”

The woman squinted up at him, hugging her notebook to her chest. “You’re not from around here. I can tell by your accent, and everyone _else_ has been much nicer since I got here.”

“What, a few hours ago? You’ve decided I’m the only not-nice person after only getting here _today_?” He whistled, enjoying the way her eyes shone the more they bickered. “You really must think Birnam’s small.” Rather than reply, she took a few moments to size him up, and he realized that she was probably deciding whether to keep talking to him or to just walk away. “I’m Fitz.” She looked down at his newly proffered hand and then back up at him, wrinkling her nose. “Leopold Fitz,” he conceded with a small shrug. “But everyone calls me Fitz. I’m in engineering and I think,” he paused, tilting up her notebook to reveal the logo, “we might be working at the same place.”

“Oh,” she breathed, face lighting up as if she’d forgotten that she had just been annoyed with him, “that’s fantastic! I haven’t met anyone outside of the department yet.” Taking his hand, she gave it a firm shake, and he realized that her smile might be the best thing he’d seen since moving out here half a year ago. “Jemma Simmons, biochem. But you can call me Jemma.”

“So,” he said, taking a few seconds too long to drop her hand and then blushing when he realized it, “mind if I tag along to your dream cottage? Never seen one of those before, I don’t think.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and started down the street, turning to make sure he followed. “It’s just an ordinary cottage, Fitz, honestly. But it stuck with me for some reason….”

Pulling to a stop, they both considered the quaint little dwelling, weather-worn fence draped with pink and green flowering vines, with the proportions of the windows and door somehow making it seem like the house was smiling right back at them.

“I just think it would be nice to live here,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “With someone you cared about. Maybe not all year round, but… sometimes. Very peaceful, private.” She glanced up at him as if she was thinking about adding something more, but didn’t continue.

Fitz nodded slowly, studying the little cottage that he would never, ever have noticed on his own. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Might appreciate it more if my pants weren’t soaked through, but it’s nice.”

Jemma burst into laughter, covering her mouth with one hand to muffle the noise. “Can I do anything to make it up to you?”

Chewing thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek, Fitz considered the woman before him. If she was working for the biochem department and had two PhDs at her age, she must be deeply intelligent, her odd interest in remote Scottish housing notwithstanding. Aside from the fact that he found her increasingly pretty the more he talked to her, at the very least he might get to talk to someone with true insight into a scientific discipline that was normally not in his wheelhouse. And if he were very lucky, maybe he would make his first friend in the cultural wasteland that, largely, was Perthshire. (Truthfully, first _real_ friend anywhere, but he wasn’t comfortable admitting that to himself as of yet.)

“Let me show you around,” he said at last, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not that Birnam’s hard to get around, mind you, but I’ve been here for a few months. I can show you the best places to get a cuppa, that sort of thing.”

A wide smile spread across her face – the widest one yet, by his estimation, but he was too distracted the shine of her eyes to make a proper determination – and she gave him a happy nod. “If we follow that up with me buying you drinks, then that sounds like perfect payment for my clumsiness.”

“Yeah? I mean, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat, “right, good.”

Turning in the direction of the high street, Jemma tilted her head back at him, one eyebrow arching in anticipation. “Lead on, then.”

They spent the rest of the day chatting and wandering around town, and Fitz found himself increasingly fascinated by the way her mind worked. Within a month of working down the hall from each other, collaborating whenever their individual projects allowed the time, they were inseparable both in and out of work. And it wasn’t long after that Fitz finally thought maybe Perthshire wasn’t so bad after all. As long as he was with Jemma, anyway.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T. Neighbors AU.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/145111041685/my-showers-broken-but-ive-got-a-date-tonight).

Whatever Leo Fitz had expected to see on the other side of his door at five in the afternoon on a Friday, it had certainly not been Jemma Simmons wearing only a bathrobe. A pink satin bathrobe that clung all too appealingly to curves that he was definitely not supposed to be admiring. A good person did not lust after their best friend, or lab partner, or neighbor. As she smiled up at him, she shifted her crossed arms just enough that there was a slight gap in the top of the robe, revealing a particularly enticing smattering of freckles. 

Fitz sighed. Clearly, he was not a good person.

“Sorry to barge in on you Fitz, but could I use your shower? Mine’s knackered, and if I have my way, I’ve got a date this evening.” She gave him a cross between a cringe and a pout, raising her towel between her hands in a cute, faux-prayer. “Pretty please with pesto aioli on top?”

He rolled his eyes and threw his door wide open, making an exaggeratedly grand gesture to usher her inside. “Course you can, don’t be ridiculous.”

Simmons hopped inside, hesitated in front of him as if she was thinking about giving him a hug, and then gave him a wide smile instead. “Thank you, Fitz,” she said warmly, squeezing his bicep as she traipsed onwards to his bathroom. “You’re a darling.”

_That’s me_ , he thought bitterly, flouncing onto his sofa as the bathroom lock clicked. _An absolute darling with zero sex appeal. Might as well be a bloody monk for all she notices. Not that she should. Because I’m her mate. And apparently an asshole_. Fitz groaned and dropped his head onto the back of the couch. This crush had been annoying at first, but now it was practically ruining his life. All he could think about was doing deeply inappropriate and exceedingly non-platonic things with his best friend, and that was making it difficult to live next to her, where she was almost definitely doing non-platonic things with people other than him. It was torture.

When Simmons emerged half an hour later, hair still wet and leaving tantalizing trails down the front of her bathrobe, he pretended that he’d spent the intervening time watching the telly, giving her a small wave as she let herself out. (What he’d actually been doing involved going through a variety of scenarios where she’d dragged him into the shower with her, getting himself half hard, and then mentally flagellating until the arousal had definitively turned into self-loathing.)

Later, as Fitz contemplated the best ways to try not to think perverted thoughts about his best friend, there was another knock on the door. With his luck, it would be her date having come to use his toilet or something equally fantastic. So when he opened it to see Simmons alone, hair freshly set and wearing a curve-hugging red sequined jacket, he had to actually bite into his bottom lip to keep from whining.

“Yeah?” His voice was strangled, and he was fairly sure that his expression was a bizarre mask of faux friendliness, but considering the thoughts he’d been having since seeing her in that bathrobe he was mostly just glad that he hadn’t gotten hard again.

“Fitz,” she said, hands twisting together in front of herself, “are you busy tonight?”

“Oh,” he muttered, and then shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as he tried to sound sympathetic rather than some combination of bitterly pleased. “Your date cancel on you?”

Simmons gave him a puzzling little half smile then, and took a step towards him. “No, I… was hoping you would be my date. Tonight. I mean, not a friend date - a real date. The kind that usually ends in sex. Or at least kissing.” When he just stared mutely back at her, she gave him what could only be described as a hopeful wince.

“What?”

“Ugh, Fitz!” She strode past him into his apartment, but he couldn’t find it in himself to move, too confused by what, apparently, was Simmons’ version of a come-on. “We’ve just – been doing this for months, now! You must feel it, you must.” Her eyes met his as she stepped right up to him, so that they were a breath away from being pressed against each other. “Don’t you?”

Unsure of how to respond, he darted his tongue out to wet his lips. Simmons, though, seemed to take that as an invitation and stretched up to fit their mouths together. Adrenaline roared through his system, and before he knew it his arms were wrapped tightly around her, nearly bending her backwards as he moved his mouth ardently against hers, giving in to everything he’d been suppressing for – as she’d noted – months. After both ages and not nearly long enough, he reigned himself in enough to break away, chest heaving as he pressed their foreheads together.

“I think I’ll take that as a yes,” she breathed hoarsely, and he took a distinct sort of pleasure in the way that she looked just as dazed as he felt.

“Seriously? You… all this time, you –”

“I was a bit unfair this afternoon,” she admitted, looking slyly up through her eyelashes. “With the bathrobe. But I had to know if… if….” He just arched an eyebrow, and she exhaled, tugging on the “v” of his button-down. “If you wanted me.”

“Bloody understatement of the century,” he muttered, pulling her closer in, spreading his hands out against her back. “I can’t believe you were _trying_ to drive me crazy. Damned rude.”

She laughed, dipping her head briefly against his shoulder. “So,” she said, meeting his eyes again, “dinner? Date? You and me?”

Rather than answer, he leaned in to capture her lips again, reveling in the way she melted against him, sighed against his lips, and grabbed onto his shirt to hold him close.

“That other thing you mentioned….”

Her eyes fluttered open as he trailed kisses along her jaw. “Sex?”

“That one. Is that a strictly post-dinner activity?”

A breathless laugh escaped her throat, and she nuzzled over at him, drawing his gaze back up to hers. “Not at all. I’ve heard it’s a good idea to work up an appetite, actually.”

“Fucking fantastic,” he said, slanting her lips apart with his own and holding her so tightly that he nearly picked her up in his enthusiasm.

As Fitz let Jemma tear off his shirt and then trousers, he thanked everything that was holy that her shower had been broken… and then froze. 

“Jemma,” he said, his hands halfway up the back of her shirt. “Was your shower not broken, then?”

She let out a peal of laughter, stretching up to press their foreheads together. “Come on over later,” she murmured, “and test it out for yourself.”

Brows furrowing, Fitz thought about asking for a real answer, but then Jemma reached around to undo the clasp of her bra and, well, suddenly the shower didn't seem all that important anymore.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG. Missing scene between 3x18/3x19.  
> (Could be read as a continuation of [my M-rated take on the sex scene](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6676387).)
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/145273574805/super-duper-fluff-based-around-did-i-say-your).

By the time they arrived at the Playground, it was well past SHIELD’s bedtime. Not that the base ever really slept, mind you, but everyone who had been in Bucharest was entitled to at least a few hours of sleep before they continued hunting for Hive and attempting to rescue those he’d taken under his control. Once they’d given Coulson the quickest debrief possible, Jemma and Fitz retreated to their own rooms and showers on autopilot, both looking forward to getting some sleep before beginning the search for Daisy anew.

Having showered, changed, and brushed her teeth, Jemma hovered outside of Fitz’s closed door, trying to decide what to do. Once in the quinjet after their hour of bliss in the hotel room, only able to share adoring smiles at odd moments, neither of them had spoken about what to do now. As much as she’d enjoyed herself in Bucharest – oh, so much more than she’d even dreamed – she really wanted the chance to fall asleep next to him. But it felt strange, somehow, to invade his space uninvited. Jemma imagined his face if she explained the reasons for her nerves and almost laughed, shaking her head ruefully at herself. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. They were long past the point of hiding from each other. 

Squaring her shoulders and hoping that no one walked through the residence hallway for the next thirty seconds, she gave two sharp knocks on Fitz’s door. A pause followed the slight echo of her knocking, and she twisted her hands together at her waist.

“Coming,” came his voice, and she could almost hear the jaw clench in his tone. When he swung the door open and saw her standing there, however, his expression switched instantly from annoyance to this soft kind of excitement that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Knowing _why_ he looked at her like that sent a small zip of adrenaline through her, and she nearly bounced on her feet with the renewed energy seeing him brought her. “Jemma,” he breathed with a smile of his own, and then reached out to tug her into the room.

“Hi,” she started to say, a smile blooming on her face, but once the door was shut Fitz wrapped his arms around her and captured her lips with his. 

Immediately distracted from whatever she’d been about to say, she made a surprised hum against his mouth and leaned her entire body weight into his embrace. Slanting her lips open to slide their tongues lazily together, he didn’t seem to think anything needed saying, and Jemma was perfectly content to let him sweep him off her feet for a little while longer. Until she yawned against his mouth, that is, and then pulled away with an embarrassed laugh.

“Bored already?” His teasing was light, though, amusement and adoration mingling in the expression on his face, and he smoothed loose hair away from her eyes.

“No, oh, Fitz, I’m sorry,” she said, tucking her head beneath his neck and holding him close. “I’m just –”

“Exhausted,” he finished for her, “I know. Did you have something you wanted to tell me? Before I, ah, accosted you?”

“I didn’t mind the accosting.” She tilted her head up to slide teasing kisses against his unshaven neck. “In fact, I liked the accosting. Very much.”

“Good to know,” he said, voice a little more hoarse than it had been seconds before, and she grinned as she brushed her nose against his stubble.

“I was just thinking… could I sleep in here? With you?” Moving back to meet his gaze, she fiddled with the collar of his pajama shirt, rubbing the ribbed cotton between her fingertips. “We never really got to… um, after, we didn’t have time to….”

“Cuddle?”

A laugh hung around his voice and she gave his shoulder a half-hearted shove. “Shut up.”

His hands came up to cup her jaw, and Fitz leaned down to brush their noses together before he gave her a slow, gentle kiss. Jemma was once more by how differently he behaved now that he was allowed to be romantic towards her, as if he’d just been waiting all this time to be given permission. Her heart melted all over again, and she took a few seconds too long to open her eyes when he pulled back.

“I’d love to sleep with you, Jemma,” he murmured, eyes glinting mischievously even in the dim bedroom. “Double-entendre intended.”

Rolling her eyes, she moved towards the bed, tugging him along after her. “Down, boy. At least wait until tomorrow.”

Once her calves hit the bedframe, Fitz stepped into her space again, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her ardently, sending heat straight through her at the memory of what he’d been like in the hotel room. The way he moved his mouth against hers implied that he had no intention whatsoever of waiting until tomorrow, and, with the renewed taste of him on her lips, she was rather hard-pressed to listen to her own logic. Before she knew it, she was lying on the mattress with him stretched above her, two of their hands entwined on the blanket as he feathered kisses down her neck. The last time they’d laid like this together, the unfamiliarity of their undercover outfits had made them both eager to shed the clothes as quickly as possible - but here, in Fitz’s room, clad in their respective old pajamas, there wasn’t nearly the same urgency. Having removed that rather specific form of tension earlier in the evening - or at least put a delightfully satisfying pin in it - Jemma thought that she would happily lie here underneath Fitz indefinitely, kissing him as if nothing else in the world existed. Then again: It really was extremely late, and they both desperately needed sleep.

“Fiiiiiitz,” she moaned, eyes blinking open when she realized that she didn’t sound as censorious as she’d intended. Her hands weren’t cooperating either, one scratching through his hair while the other squeezed his hand rather than pushing him back. Being with Fitz was going to become very inconvenient very quickly if she continued to lose all sense of priority when he kissed her. Oh, but she really _did_ like it when he kissed her - in all manner of places not exactly conducive to getting a good night’s rest.

He sighed, rubbing his nose against her jaw, warm breath feathering enticingly over her neck and collarbone. “I know – I know, I’m sorry.”

“The more sleeping we do tonight,” she said, watching as he scooted reluctantly back off the bed and strode around to the other side, “the more sleeping _together_ we can do tomorrow. Okay?”

Waiting for her to scramble under the covers, he chuckled and flung the sheets up over them both. “Deal.”

A few moments passed while they settled in and he clicked off the bedside lamp, both of them automatically gravitating towards the center of the bed and each other. Letting out a contented little hum, Jemma curled herself around her boyfriend, resting her head on his shoulder and tangling their legs together.

Fitz jerked underneath her and made a strangled squawk. “Holy mother of  _God_ , Jemma!”

Turning up to look at him with wide eyes, she tried to figure out what she’d done wrong in only the past few seconds. “What?”

“Your _feet_ ,” he hissed, twisting around so that hers weren’t touching his bare skin anymore. “Forget ice buckets, you’ve got whole bloody icebergs down there!”

Jemma collapsed into giggles, knowing that he wasn’t actually upset by the way that he continued to hold her against himself with both hands curled loosely around her. “You’re a brave soul, to risk a whole night with that,” she managed to tease back at last.

“You know I’d risk more’n that.”

The words were quiet, their weight shifting the air in the room until it almost became hard for her to breathe, the depth of the feeling between them both potent in a way that she once hadn’t thought possible for anyone, let alone between her and her best friend. As usual, Fitz defied all expectations. Clambering up to press their foreheads together, she clung to him as if the tighter she held him, the more she could impress upon him the fervency of her own affection and joy - and the relief that he’d survived all of his risk-taking to come back to her.

“Tonight was perfect, Fitz,” she whispered at last, pressing kisses along the edge of his cheek and jaw as she slid back down to the mattress.

Shifting around underneath her, he moved his head back to give her a skeptical look. “Really?” 

She paused, nose wrinkling. “Okay, yes, not the _whole_ night. But us – you. That was perfect.”

He tilted his head to look at her, words of some kind hovering in the part of his lips, and Jemma felt so happy that she might burst at the seams. Even if they’d never said “those three little words” to each other, in that moment she felt like they didn’t need to: She knew. Leaning in for the kind of kiss she’d never given anyone else, she tried to tell him with every brush of her lips how much she adored him. 

“Yeah, it was pretty perfect. But next time,” he murmured when she broke away, tangling his fingers into her hair, “you have to wear socks to bed.”

Jemma groaned, twisting around onto her side and tugging on his arm until he was curled snugly behind her. “Hot-blooded Scot to the end.”

He snorted against her neck, and then pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her spine. “Touché.”

Closing her eyes, she allowed the ghost of a smile to flit across her lips. If there was one thing in this whole world that she loved nearly as much as she loved Leopold Fitz, it was winning. Even if it was just having the last word in a silly little argument. 

For the moment, though, what was making her the happiest she’d ever been was the effortlessness of this last change in their relationship. In less than twenty four hours, they’d gone from best friends toeing the line of something more, to best friends having _slept_ together (especially skillfully, in her opinion) and who were about to sleep together. It was exciting and familiar and joyful all at once, and somehow still so much more than she could quantify. When Jemma fell asleep that night wrapped in Fitz’s arms, she slipped into dreams that were, oddly enough, almost exactly like reality.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG-13, for sex mentions. Post-3x22, canon-compliant.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/145322783674/for-your-drabble-giveaway-congrats-things).

Fitz peered into the darkened secure comms room, following the voice he’d thought he’d heard from around the corner. The base was supposed to be on a low-level shutdown while they recovered from their most recent heavy losses, so no one should be using the comms equipment at all. More strangely than that, he was pretty sure now that the voice belonged to Jemma.

“… I _swear_ , it’s never been like that before. I didn’t even know he could _be_ so… so….” She let out a breathless little laugh, her chair squeaking as she moved. “Yes, hot. But not just on an attractiveness level – which, really Bobbi, I wish engineers had more reasons to wear suits. It wasn’t just that, though, it was….” He inched closer, careful not to make any noise louder than the sigh she made. “Exactly. The connection. That’s exactly it. And the two orgasms didn’t hurt either.” Chuckling, Jemma paused again as she listened, her head barely visible where it was silhouetted against the dimmed screens.

Common courtesy held that Fitz should reveal his presence right away; it was rude of him to eavesdrop on anyone, let alone his best friend and girlfriend. Warmth had crept up the back of his neck when he’d realized what she was talking about, but now he couldn’t help wanting to know just a little more of her thoughts on the, erm, _sexual_  part of their new relationship. They had only been together a handful of times, if that many, and even though she always responded enthusiastically to all of his advances and experiments, he still worried that his inexperience had been a damper in some way. (He’d been doing pretty well at hiding that, he thought, but one never knew.) It was a relief to hear her true thoughts, unfiltered by the affection he knew she felt for him and which might cause her to be overly nice to spare his feelings. If there was one thing about which Fitz was confident in their relationship, it was the way she felt about him. Although hearing her be smug about the number of orgasms he’d given her their first time didn’t hurt either. His own soothed insecurities aside, however, he knew it was time for him to reveal his presence.

Jemma sighed, and leaned back in her office chair. “I know, I never want to let him out of bed in the morning. It’s addictive.” Whatever Bobbi said over the line triggered a peal of laughter, and he squinted in the dark for the light switch. “You have _no_ idea. It was like a romance novel – no, really! His –”

Fitz slapped his hand over the light switch, the fluorescents blinking on to reveal Jemma’s shocked face. Her mouth gaped open, and she swallowed before whispering into the boxy, secure-line phone that she held in her right hand. “No, I’m fine, but I’ve got to go. All my love to you both, okay? – Yes, next time.” Before she could even press the bright red button that severed the connection, her face flushed an appealing shade of pink. “How much of that did you hear?”

“What’re you doing, Jemma? _Bobbi_? We’re not even supposed to be calling out at all, and they’re not –”

“I know!” Clearly distressed, she curled her hands around her neck, a nervous tick of hers since their Academy days. “Oh, it’s awful, and I went to so much trouble to find Bobbi, and all for something so silly,” she said in a rush, scooting a few awkward steps towards him. “I just needed to talk to someone.” The hurt on his face must have been transparent because Jemma crumpled further at his expression. “Someone… not you? But in a good way.”

“What?”

Sighing, Jemma leaned against one of the desks and beckoned him over, sliding her hand into his once he was in reach. “I can't talk to Daisy,” she whispered, “because… oh, it’s all too horrible. And I’ve felt so guilty –”

“Jemma….”

“Because I’m so _happy_ , and she’s not –”

“That’s not your fault –”

“No, I know, I know that, but… I needed to share it with someone.” She smiled up at him, eyes shining in the now-brightly lit room. “Share us. Talk to someone without feeling… feeling like… I’m bragging.”

“The one time in your life that you _don’t_ want to brag, and it’s about me,” he teased, earning him a light whack on the shoulder. “No, I get it. It’s not… we’re finally happy, and we can’t even _be_ happy around the others. Not now. Feels selfish.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose, snuggling in along his side and encouraging him to wrap one arm around her. “Yes, exactly. So I tracked down Bobbi. She wasn’t happy to hear about… you know. Everything else. But it was nice to just talk, for once. Without having to censor myself.”

“I’m glad,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “You never have to censor yourself around me, y’know. If it helps.”

She tilted her head back to allow him to give her a real kiss, a soft kiss, one full of gentleness and an affection so strong sometimes it frightened him. “I know.”

“Especially not if you’re comparing me to a romance novel.” Jemma groaned into a low whine, digging her fingers into his shirt. “Which part, exactly? The rippling muscles –”

“Oh, _God_ –”

“Or roguish good looks –”

“ _Fiiii-iitz_ ….”

“Or - what else do romance novels have?” Brows furrowing, he pretended to ponder the question seriously, holding Jemma against him as she shook with laughter. “Oh! Bodice-ripping! There’s always bodice-ripping, yeah? Do you have any bodices I should take care of later?”

“If there’s any bodice-ripping to be done, [it’ll be by me](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/138284765633/eclecticmuses-and-i-are-still-laughing-about),” she sniffed, sitting up properly and trying very hard not to devolve into giggles again.

“I don’t even know what that means –”

“And there are usually kilts.”

He froze, squinting down at her. “What?”

Her expression had morphed into an overly familiar one, the kind where she knew she was about to have the last word; he’d never quite figured out whether it infuriated him or turned him on. Pushing herself away the table, she tossed the next sentence over her shoulder as she trotted into the hallway. “[My romance novels](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/138259453933/memorizingthedigitsofpi-blame-agentverbivore) usually involve kilts.”

Fitz couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped open, his brain spinning in a hundred directions. Did she like kilts? Did she still have those romance novels? Oh God, would she eventually ask him to _wear_ a kilt in the bedroom? Christ, he hated kilts. Wait – _her_ romance novels, she’d said. So did that mean that she’d had a thing for kilts before they’d gotten together? Was it Scots or kilts? Or both? He was this close to shaking his head rapidly from side-to-side like a cartoon character to try to get himself back from a thought tangent that would inevitably leave him half-hard in the middle of the day.

Jemma poked her head back into the room from the hallway, eyes wide in a combination of feigned innocence and sass. “Come on then, Fitz – back to work.”

_Back to work_ , he thought dimly, adjusting his belt as he followed her. Fitz was  _never_ going to be able to concentrate on anything after that conversation – and, in retrospect, that was probably exactly what Jemma had intended.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really slightly more meta than ficlet, but either way it's rated **G**.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/146030809318/what-jemma-simmons-means-to-leopold-fitz-peace).

## What Jemma Simmons Means to Leopold Fitz

Peace.

When Fitz was young, his brain always seemed to whirr about a hundred times faster than anyone else expected. He’d be moving leaps and bounds past them in thought even before he had the words to explain himself. (Yes, Mum, of _course_  that’s a television remote - I want to know how to change the colors on the screen.) As he got older, he got impatient, not understanding why everyone else around him moved so slowly, why the inner workings of a motherboard weren’t practically self-explanatory, why he always seemed three steps ahead and yet one step behind at the same time. School was no better, with teachers telling him that he wasn’t learning properly when he skipped steps that he’d finished years before, and students avoiding or taunting him just because he’d told them they were wrong. (But they _were_. No one ever understood that being wrong wasn’t a problem, it was just another stage of learning.) His mother liked to joke to her friends that Fitz spoke a language all his own, and eventually he began to believe that he wouldn’t ever find someone who could translate.

Then when he was sixteen, he found a girl who spoke a language all _her_ own, one of fluids and cells and elements, and against all odds somehow it worked with his. After months of him trying to figure out the best way to broach the barrier of a real introduction - one that would somehow combine their respective disciplines and catch her attention so thoroughly that maybe, just maybe, she’d be willing to speak his language for just a little while - he tried his hand. To his surprise, not only did Simmons understand him but she made him better, she thought faster, worked harder, and for the first time in his life Fitz was scrambling to keep up. Talking to her and around her and with her was exhilarating and, simultaneously, restful. Eventually, he realized that he didn’t have to be on guard to explain himself or dumb down what he was trying to say, because Simmons was inevitably two steps ahead and barreling her way towards a solution that might never have occurred to him without her. 

Being with Jemma Simmons felt like finding the piece of himself he hadn’t known was missing, the peace within himself that he’d long ago given up on reaching. 

Around her, Fitz could be still in a way he never could with anyone else. To the whole world their arguments looked like bickering, but for him they were how he worked through the constantly firing synapses of his brain. He lost the restless energy he’d had as a child and gained the focus of a scientist with ideas, inventions, a purpose, and a partner. 

To Leopold Fitz, Jemma Simmons is the embodiment of brilliance, fulfillment, and peace. Who could resist falling in love with that?

(Much later, while he watched her trip over a small dune of beach sand and land, laughing, at the end of his lounge chair, he thought about that and grinned. Together, they spoke a language far better than his own.)


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Written about a month after the season 1 finale aired back in 2014; takes place about a year after 1x22. Canon-divergence.
> 
> [Original Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/94363013953/fitzsimmons-one-person-is-an-android-this).

Jemma sat at the edge of the common room of the Bus, hands pressed stiffly to her knees, and hoped that none of the others would wander by the bunks. Another whirr sounded from Fitz’s room, followed swiftly by something hitting the wall and a sharp swear. She knew he didn’t like anyone to see (or hear) him like this, so after hovering by his locked door for a few moments, she’d settled herself nearby as a kind of guard. This was a position she'd often assigned herself in the months since the pod, and since a clot during his recovery had necessitated the partial removal of his right leg, but she had nowhere she’d rather be. Well, other than in the room with him, anyway.

Her patience for listening to him struggle was rapidly wearing thin today, so when she heard another metallic click and a muffled swear, she stood up and knocked softly on the door.

“It’s me, Fitz.”

“I’ll be back in a minute, Jemma,” he bit out, his frustration clear despite the closed door. 

She sighed. “Let me in. Please.”

Silence. She leaned her head against the doorframe, and then jumped at the click of the lock’s release. When she slid the door open, Fitz was just dropping back onto the bed, right leg stretched awkwardly in front of him. The cybernetic prosthetic was of his own design, the smooth, white polymer shell making it a far more attractive addition than the crude metal of Mike Peterson’s enhancements. A panel was open along the side, and Fitz held a pincer that he’d clearly been using to make adjustments. 

He didn’t look up at her, muttering down at the floor as Jemma shut the door behind herself. “The knee joint froze up again, and I think I know why - the new bloody power source mucked up the spacing, but...." His jaw muscles clenched, and he flicked his eyes briefly up to hers. “I can’t reach it.”

Jemma was tempted to scold him - as she would have done, once, without a second thought. And maybe she would in a minute, but for now she just pulled the tool out of his hand and kneeled by the leg. 

“Tell me what to do.” 

Fitz talked her through making the necessary adjustments, an initial vocal tremor from his own anger quickly replaced by an authoritative tone that was much more like himself. The leg was a marvel, really, she thought as she peered inside its mechanics. He’d spent most of his recovery designing and making the cybernetic leg himself, using Trip and Skye as sort of engineering sous-chefs, and, once he perfected it through usage, he’d already agreed to help scientists back at the Playground develop them for the general populace. As long as it didn’t take him away from the Bus for too long, of course.

She made one last tweak and the leg whirred to life, allowing Fitz to finally bend his knee. A sigh of relief escaped his lips and he smiled thinly down at her. “Brilliant.” 

After she snapped the access panel closed, she nudged him over on the bed. Fitz rolled his eyes but acquiesced, making room for her, pulling his trousers leg down, and reaching for his discarded sock. 

“Fitz,” she murmured, drawing his attention back to her. He pulled at the thinning white material, and she had to push lightly on his shoulder to get him to actually meet her gaze. “Don’t hide from me. We’re a team, this is what we do.” 

He exhaled, glancing down as she took his unoccupied hand into both of hers, smoothing her thumb over the callouses and creases of his palm. “I — sorry. I’m trying….”

“I know,” she broke in, nuzzling forward and leaning her forehead against his. They sat there quietly for a moment, each reading the other perfectly well without needing any words.

Fitz smiled first, and then dropped the sock to slide his other hand around the back of her neck. When he pressed his lips to hers, Jemma closed her eyes and noted that this was kiss number forty-eight. It had taken them so long to move past his recovery that every moment of their new-but-old relationship felt important, so she’d started listing them to herself, every one of them feeling just as new as the last. One day she’d probably lose track, but, for today, she’d helped Fitz fix his leg and this was kiss number forty-eight, and he’d let her in and she promised herself that she’d never, ever leave.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this](http://retiredvoldemort.tumblr.com/post/134000728694/soulmate-au-where-everybody-is-born-with-a-simple) tumblr prompt (a soulmate AU). Written back in April and then nearly forgotten about. :-)
> 
> Rated G. Spans years, but mostly takes place at the end of an alt season 2.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/147149056183/bloom-inspired-by-this-tumblr-prompt-a-soulmate).

_**Bloom** _

Jemma Simmons had known for almost a decade that Leopold Fitz was her soulmate, but it only began to matter the day he tried to exchange his life for hers.

The birthmark encircling Jemma’s left wrist had been the same her entire life; a line darker than that of an ordinary mole and thinner than a hair. She never expected that it would become anything else because for someone to meet their soulmate was extremely rare. Both of her parents still had their circles, and they loved each other more than most married couples she’d ever seen. Soulmates, she’d concluded at a young age, were at best superfluous and at worst an enormous expenditure of one’s time.

But then a small vine spindled away from her circle by the end of her first day at SHIELD Academy’s orientation, and she was torn between curiosity and annoyance. It made sense, in some ways, that her soulmate had to be one of the smartest people on the planet – she didn’t think she’d be able to put up with anything less for the rest of her life. Then again, she reminded herself that the odds against her meeting her soulmate at all had been astronomical. Unfortunately, she’d met so many people that day that she had no idea who the person was, and as a result was stuck waiting. 

By the end of her first week at the Academy, her vine had grown less than a millimeter, and she’d eliminated all of the likeliest suspects of both genders. The mark grew at odd, unexpected moments, and she only ever noticed long after the fact, when any potential candidates were certainly not around. Then, two months into chemistry lab, Jemma finally figured out why her mark’s growth had been stymied: Until their professor had forced Jemma and Fitz to work together, he had been doing his damnedest to avoid her.

Not for lack of her trying, mind – but getting him to even look at her had been more difficult than the vast majority of the work had been for her first PhD. At one point, Fitz had been one of the first candidates in the little notebook she used to keep a record of her attempts to suss out the identity of her soulmate, but once it had become clear that he’d rather be rivals she’d crossed him out under the reasoning of common sense. One’s soulmate did not hate them. 

After their first week of partnership, her vine had become rather recognizably plant-like, spanning almost two centimeters. A month went by, during which Jemma virtually ceased spending time with anyone else because she was far more interested in spending it with Fitz, and a minute branch separated from the first offshoot. To her surprise, she was relieved that the answer was the handsome but quiet engineer; he was brilliant, and interesting, and he put up with her following him around. 

The evidence on her arm was clear enough that she began to wonder if she should bring it up with him, and the thought made her nervous for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. Her autumn and then winter clothes had obscured the need for him to see the burgeoning plant at all, but as spring approached she realized that she didn’t know if the growth was reciprocated. Could a person have a soulmate whose own soulmate was someone else? The idea plagued her, although she chose not to analyze the root of said discomfort, until one day Fitz nearly caught fire in the lab and shoved both of his sleeves up to his elbows.

Along his left arm was a small ivy plant, nearly the exact length as Jemma’s but curling in a different direction. His mark already had one distinct leaf hanging off the side, where hers was all vines and no foliage. He caught her staring and flushed, awkwardly shoving the sleeve back down again. Before he could rush off on some half-muttered excuse, Jemma tugged her cardigan up above her wrist, just enough for him to see and not enough to catch anyone else’s eye. The gobsmacked expression on his face made her want to laugh, and she felt a little better that they’d likely been fearing the same thing, that the other might not have the growing soulmark. Luckily, the concern was unfounded.

They went back to work, and eventually – during odd conversations in and out of their lab, while watching television or working or lounging outside SHIELD’s weapons testing facilities – decided that being each other’s soulmate was about as convenient a decision that the cosmos had ever made.

Until, that is, everything started to go wrong.

By the time they joined Coulson’s mobile ops, both of them had intricate vines twisting up their left arms all the way to their biceps. Fitz’s had many ivy leaves by this point, and Jemma’s had begun to sprout small flower buds, nestled within the otherwise ordinary plant. Their marks weren’t identical, but that seemed to make sense for them. Most soulmate relationships involved interaction of a romantic nature, and theirs was wonderfully, comfortably platonic, and always had been. Accordingly, Jemma privately hypothesized that her flowers might never bloom, but that suited her – any other kind of relationship with Fitz would ultimately just be too complicated.

Of course, she’d never suspected that he would confess to having other kinds of feelings for her while they were trapped at the bottom of the ocean.

When he lay in his coma for nine days, she spent most of it by his side, only parting from him when forced to do so by a team member. During one such moment, as May had been about to order her to get a few hours of sleep, the older woman had frozen. Jemma blinked down at where her left sleeve was bunched up around her elbow, her hands wrapped around Fitz’s limp one, and realized what had caught her attention. The curls of their vines were pressed skin-to-skin the way Jemma was holding him, his only just visible outside of his cast, the marks undeniably born of their connection. She just swallowed and grasped his hand more tightly, grateful only that her own mark hadn’t faded at all since Fitz’s injury. (That was a possibility, she’d read, for a person's mark to begin to fade if they separated from their soulmate for long enough.) May strode out of the room without another word, leaving Jemma by Fitz's side, undisturbed for a little longer.

Although Jemma’s departure for Hydra was painful, she didn’t truly panic until she stared blearily down at her arm one morning and thought that one of her vines had disappeared. She ran from her kitchen into the bathroom, frantically pulling her sleeve up as she went and counting the familiar tendrils. They were all there, each one, but for the first time in years they’d stagnated, frozen without Fitz’s constant presence. Taking in jagged, deep breaths, she reminded herself that as soon as her mission was complete, she could return to him, and her vines would begin to grow again.

At the Playground, Jemma couldn’t see what Fitz’s mark looked like at all. Her mind fixated on this as a distraction from the fact that she could barely think of what to say to him now, how to explain that she was confused about everything but still desperately wanted to be by his side. Before she’d left for Hydra, his cast had come off, revealing a jagged scar on the back of his arm that ran straight through Fitz’s mark. How had it healed while she’d been gone? What did it look like now? Had the mark healed over it, or were the vines irreparably marred? Jemma’s hands itched to reach for his arm when it shook, to soothe the shaking and run her fingers up the inside of his wrist, pushing the cardigan sleeve back to trace the familiar vines as she’d never dared to do before. But he was still stumbling over words and could barely look at her, and so she curled her hands into fists at her side and waited.

In the end, she couldn’t wait forever. 

The first time Jemma kissed Fitz, it was out of sheer panic that she might never see him again, might never get to tell him what she’d finally figured out. That he was her soulmate but it couldn’t have mattered less, that she cared for him fiercely, terrifyingly, unerringly in spite of that fact. Maybe she’d never know if it was biology that made this so, but Jemma believed that her choosing of him despite the mark made the feeling that much stronger.

She watched him turn to follow the director out of the locker room, saw the flash of the ivy peeking out at the join of his neck and shoulder, and found herself reaching out for a second time in as many minutes. Tugging him back into the room, she acted on instinct, possibly for the very first time where Fitz was concerned. Her left hand reached up to angle his face down to hers and just before she closed her eyes she caught a flash of color at her wrist. The second her lips met his, she forgot entirely about what that sight might mean, but later she would realize that her first ever flower had bloomed while she’d been trying to tell her soulmate that she loved him.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G. Nature show AU.
> 
> I actually wrote this back in Feb. 2015, and at the time intended to turn it into a longer piece with a few more scenes. But, as it's been a year and a half since then and I really don't intend to go back to add to it anymore, I thought it was about time I posted it. :-)
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/148364966893/no-bite).

The sky was the perfect grey for filming, and the air even felt less moist now than it had this morning, making the shoot’s set-up slightly more pleasant after their long drive. Jemma grinned as she pulled the harness tight around her waist, watching Fitz shift nervously from foot to foot.

“I don’t like it, Simmons,” he muttered, fiddling with the dials on his recording equipment. 

Shooting Skye an amused look around the camera, Jemma undid her most recent knot and tried again. (Trip had shown her how to do this a hundred times, but she still usually needed to warm up before she got it right.) “We’ve been planning this for weeks –”

“No, we’ve been planning on hunting piranhas for weeks, _you_ decided to jump in the bloody pond with them –”

“I’m not injured, Fitz! They won’t have any interest in me –” 

“You don’t _know_ that –”

“I’ve got two advanced degrees that say otherwise –”

“FitzSimmons.” May wasn’t even looking at them; until a minute ago, she’d been on the phone with Coulson, their network liaison, so Jemma hadn’t expected to be shooting for another half an hour.

Skye snorted, and Jemma glared at her again. The camerawoman would never admit it, but Jemma _knew_ that she’d been lobbying the rest of the crew to start calling her and Fitz that nickname. Somehow, she’d never thought Skye would manage to convince _May_ to use it, of all people, although clearly she’d been wrong.

“We shoot in five,” May continued, snapping her sat-phone closed and crossing her arms.

“Yes, sir,” Jemma and Fitz said simultaneously, and then both flushed. He shoved his gigantic headphones over his reddening ears and turned away, and she couldn’t quite suppress her smile. 

They’d always gotten along well, ever since they’d been introduced at the show’s very first informal production meeting almost a year ago, but he’d been particularly tetchy on this trip and she found it infinitely endearing. It was their first big budget shoot, in Venezuela, no less, and as Fitz had never been anywhere other than the US and the UK he was a little leery of the wildlife they were about to encounter. She’d pointed out that her travel list wasn’t any longer than his (except for a few weekends in Paris as a child), but that had only seemed to insult him somehow.

A sharp tug on her safety rope yanked Jemma backwards and she whipped her head around. Trip was smiling a few feet behind her, and raised one hand in apology. “Just checking your work.”

“A little warning next time?” She shot him a fond glare, and then proceeded to the long concrete block that was going to serve as her impromptu dock. The water’s surface shivered with ripples under the storm-grey sky, fish fins always just out of view, and Jemma took a few moments to center herself. If she had any true doubts about her own safety she wouldn’t be doing this, but the idea of jumping into a pond positively filled to the brim with one of society’s most maligned fish still made her nerves tingle.

“Alright out there?” Fitz’s voice rang out in her earpiece and she winced, turning and motioning for him to lower the volume. “Right, sorry ‘bout that. Gonna test levels now, do a quick speech for me.”

“Most important of all is the first law of thermodynamics,” she recited, the old passage from her first chemistry textbook having become a sort of tradition for her audio tests. “In which no energy in the universe is created –”

“And none is destroyed,” he finished for her, “yeah, we’re all good here.”

“Great, Fitz, thanks.” She peered at the bridge where most of the crew was standing, trying to pick out his familiar figure against the flat, bright horizon.

“Try not to drop that, okay?” Even though there hadn’t been a segue, she knew that he was talking about her inner-ear piece. He’d been worrying about the damn thing ever since they left base camp this morning, and she rolled her eyes – mostly for her own benefit since he certainly couldn’t see her. “We only have two of those waterproof ones, and I’m not diving into a bloody piranha pond to fish it out.” 

“I’ll be in there anyway,” she replied drily, “I can always get it out myself.” There was a brief moment of silence on the line, and she watched Skye clamber down onto the cement walkway with her preferred camera positioned precariously on her shoulder.

“Be careful, okay?” Fitz’s voice was gruff but quiet, and something warm spread through Jemma’s chest. He drove her batty on the best of days, but he really could be quite sweet. 

“Of course I will,” she replied automatically, giving a small wave in the direction she thought he was probably standing. 

A small punch landed on her shoulder, and Jemma turned to see Skye grinning at her from around the camera. “Remind me why you haven’t asked him out, again?”

Closing her eyes, Jemma counted to ten and reminded herself that she enjoyed Skye’s company, and it would cost them a lot to replace the camera if she _accidentally_ nudged her friend backwards and into the pond. “The audio’s live, Skye,” she said through gritted teeth.

The smile that spread across Skye’s face was of Grinchian proportions. “I know.”

“Everyone set?” May’s voice crackled in over the earpieces. She was technically watching their single-monitor video village, but Jemma could see the way her body was half-angled towards the bridge.

Before agreeing to Jemma’s proposal for this segment, May had told her in no uncertain that if she was wrong about the piranhas, the director would dive into the pond to save her herself – and then consider firing her for recklessness. (It was a mostly empty threat, since, as the host, Jemma more-or-less kept their little show going, but she appreciated the older woman’s sincerity in saying it.) 

A chorus of agreement came in from the various people important enough to be mic’d, and Jemma took a deep breath as May called out: “Action!”

They needed a couple of takes for her demonstrating what piranha teeth look like, since the fish wriggled enthusiastically straight out of her hand on the first one, but everything else went smoothly. By the time she jumped into the pond water, fully clothed, she’d managed to calm her nerves enough that she almost ( _almost_ ) forgot why she was supposed to be afraid of doing this. Naturally, she’d been correct – the piranhas had no interest in her at all. When she did a couple of strokes completely submerged and popped back up, she was briefly distracted by the extra figure she could see leaning anxiously over the edge of the bridge, curly hair and silhouetted headphones distinctive against the clouds.

“Alright wild-woman!” Skye said as soon as Jemma clambered up onto the concrete dock, shifting her camera over so she could clap her on the shoulder. “Look at you defeating the piranhas.” 

“There was nothing to defeat, Skye,” Jemma sighed, wringing out her hair. “They simply aren’t interested in a fully-grown, healthy human.”

“Alright?” Fitz’s voice behind her was quiet, and she almost knocked him over as she turned around. He held a towel out, equipment slung behind him to avoid it getting wet, and she smiled widely as she took it from him.

“Ten fingers and ten toes,” she teased, running the towel down her arms and bare legs. “Thanks for this, Fitz, but you know we have a PA for that sort of thing.”

Fitz shrugged, looking her over as if he didn’t quite believe her toe and finger count. “Figured you’d want it, didn’t think to ask anyone else.” 

“Right – well, thank you,” she repeated, amused by his behavior. “D’you want my mic and stuff now, too?”

“Oh – yeah, that makes sense.” He gave his head a quick shake and ignored the small jab Skye gave his shoulder as he set his equipment to the side. It was hard to entirely avoid the gleeful grin on their co-worker’s face, but Jemma dutifully turned around and unclipped the waterproof battery pack from her shorts.

“Okay,” Fitz muttered from behind her, “you have the pack?”

“No, I fed it to a piranha.” As she was standing with her back to him, she couldn’t say for certain, but she suspected that he rolled his eyes at that. Jemma waved the battery pack over her shoulder. “Ready when you are.”

The nearby crew turned respectfully away, although there really wouldn’t be anything shown. Fitz lifted away her wet shirt from where it clung to her back and began gently peeling the taped wire off her skin, reaching his hand up rather than moving the fabric. His fingers were warm against her quickly-cooling skin, and she shivered.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “be done in a sec.”

The relationship of a sound guy and an actor (or, in Jemma’s case, “on screen personality”) is often a strangely intimate one, but Jemma was glad that May had hired Fitz. This particular necessity was always a little awkward, but his inherent sweetness took the edge off these routine moments. At least, it did until Skye inevitably nudged Jemma about it later. It wasn’t that Jemma hadn’t _thought_ about Fitz in that way, but he clearly had no interest in anything more than being her colleague. He’d called her Simmons for the first six months they knew each other, for God’s sake, despite her initial friendly overtures. All Skye’s teasing did was make the poor man uncomfortable, and Jemma was very happy to have him as a friend. More than simply happy, actually – she’d never really gotten along as well with anyone as she did with Fitz.

That didn’t quite stop the butterflies in her stomach when he leaned into her, though, breath fanning against her skin as he removed the tape that held the nearly invisible microphone to her jawline.

“Right,” Fitz said, stepping hastily away and looping the cord in on itself. “All set.” He gave her a small smile before clambering inelegantly back over the wall onto the road, and Jemma exhaled. She really needed to talk to Skye about not putting these kinds of thoughts in her head.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G / PG-13 (for the two respective parts). Academy era / near-future.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/148763198622/the-right-one) / [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/149092614533/the-right-one-part-2).

All told, birthday presents are important signifiers of the status of interpersonal relationships. At least, according to the article Jemma had found online and memorized back at the beginning of July.

Since Fitz was her best friend and the first non-relative for whom she had ever purchased a present, she was determined to find him the perfect gift. Much of her ability to do research on what he might like to receive was stymied early on in the month, as they were both at home visiting their respective families, and she’d thought it would have been rather too telling to start listing potential ideas over email. But upon their return to campus, she became so distracted by the new project he proposed – an aerosol bomb of sorts – that she entirely lost track of the passing time.

This is why, when she hadn’t found the right gift by the time August 6th rolled around, Jemma began to panic. 

They were spending the afternoon in the library, getting in a little light reading for their first semester of holographic engineering in the fall, but she wasn’t able to concentrate a whit. Her mind kept spinning through the horrible scenarios where she didn’t think of something in the next five days and had to attempt to _lie_ about where her present was. The very thought nearly put an actual grimace on her face. Knowing Fitz much better than she did when they’d first met eleven months ago, she was fairly certain that he wouldn't decide that he hated her again just because she’d gotten him a less-than-ideal present. That would be, she decided as she squinted at her best friend over her textbook, the worst case scenario.

What kind of birthday present did one get for a notoriously finicky engineering prodigy with a fondness for food, gadgets, monkeys, and, as far as Jemma could determine, not much else?

What did _boys_ like? He already owned all the computer games in which he was interested, she knew that much, and the Academy provided him with all the tools and supplies he could possibly want for tinkering, experimenting, or destroying. Desperately, she thought that maybe she could offer to be his wingman one night at the Boiler Room, but she rejected that idea nearly outright. They didn’t talk about things like that, dating or sex or anything. Besides, she was rubbish at anything related to dating – other than turning insufferable boys down, that is. If Fitz wanted advice on how to smile and politely make up excuses about why he couldn’t “catch a movie” with the interested party, she could certainly advise him on that.

“What are you doing?”

Jemma blinked, eyes focusing on where she'd been staring rather too intently at Fitz, who was now squirming uncomfortably in his seat across from her. “Um. Thinking?”

“And you needed to stare at me to do that?”

“ _Ugh_ , Fitz,” she groaned, warmth creeping into her cheeks, “you were just _there!_ I wasn’t staring _at_ you.”

Shifting in his chair so he was sitting half-cross legged, he flicked the book to the next page. “You’re an odd bird, anyone ever tell you that?”

“You,” she retorted, “at least once a week.”

"Only once? Falling down on my friendship duties," he deadpanned, and she tossed her pen at him. It bounced straight off his forehead – fortunately, not leaving a mark – and she chuckled at his wide-eyed wince.

“And who says I’m not athletic?” 

“Anyone who’s ever met you?”

“Fitz!”

“Sorry,” he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender, “sorry, I was kidding!” 

Jemma let out an indignant huff and turned back to her textbook, trying to force herself to concentrate on the history of holographic engineering and not on if buying Fitz clothes would be seen as giving him a rude sort of hint. (In fact, he dressed fairly well compared to the other Academy cadets, most of whom wore typical, slouchy-American college-esque attire.)

After a few minutes, Fitz let out an exaggerated sigh.

She glanced up at him. "What?"

“What page’re you on?”

“Twenty-six.” 

“Thirty-four – they’re talking about how the discovery of vibranium was essential to eventually creating the casing for the first holographic projectors.” Fitz stared forlornly at the textbook for a few moments before continuing. “Wish I could work with vibranium.”

“Why don’t –”

“I apply for it,” he said, anticipating her question, “yeah, did all the way back at orientation. Turned me down ‘cause I’m not eighteen.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose in distaste. “That’s a moronic regulation –”

“And ageist,” he interrupted, petulantly poking the book forward an inch on the table. “I’m not your average sixteen-year-old, y’know, and I’ll be seventeen next week –” 

“I know,” she muttered.

“They should look at my academic record to determine whether or not I’m trustworthy enough to be given access to the rarest metal on earth, not my birthday.” Furrowing his brow, he gave his head a quick shake. “Ah, nevermind. Doesn’t matter.”

But Jemma barely heard him, her brain already off and running with the perfect idea for Fitz’s seventeenth birthday present: Vibranium. 

During the following five days, she hardly saw her best friend at all, as she was far too busy calling administration officials, getting form after form signed – to the point where her wrist began to ache – and making up increasingly lame excuses about where she’d been. Although they had plans to go into town for his birthday proper, Jemma couldn’t resist banging on Fitz’s door at the crack of dawn, having run over to the Sci-Tech division head as soon as the office had opened. 

It took three tries, but at last the door to his room creaked slowly open to reveal him squinting blearily into the brightly lit hallway, sand-brown curls sticking up on one side of his head and rumpled white shirt scrunched up over his belly button. An innie, Jemma noted, flicking her eyes back up to grin at her best friend.

“Happy birthday!” she exclaimed, and promptly shoved the manila envelope into his hand. 

Fitz fumbled the present, dropping it and then swooping down to grab at it from the mottled-beige carpet standard to all of the Academy’s dormitories. “Simmons, what the _hell_ –”

“Open it,” she said, ignoring his glower and unable to keep herself from bouncing slightly on her toes as he ripped open the paper sleeve.

His expression melted from confused to shocked to elated in a matter of seconds, and Jemma fought the urge to openly preen (yet). 

“One day’s full access to the Academy’s metal stores,” he whispered, “up to one ounce’s worth, with department supervision.” He raised his eyes to hers, his own a vibrant blue in the early morning sun, light arcing through his window shades. “How the bloody hell did you get this?!”

“I’m very persuasive,” she replied smugly. And she may have agreed to go on a date with the grandson of the department secretary, who had been after Jemma to give the boy a try for two months (Brussels-sprout-shaped head or no).

After a few seconds, Fitz took one large step forward and then teetered on the front of his feet, as if he’d thought better of himself at the last second. “Thank you, Simmons,” he said at last, shaking his head in wonderment. “This’s the best present I could… Wow. An _ounce_.”

“A whole one!” she chirped, “well, other than what you share with me.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, slotting the written permission carefully back into the envelope, “course we’re sharing. That kind of opportunity?” Another thought passed behind his eyes, and his expression lit up. “D’you think – today? It’s a Wednesday....”

“I don’t see why not.” Jemma grinned when he let out another little, seemingly unconscious celebratory noise, running his fingers through his disastrously messy hair.

“ _Awesome_. Just – fifteen minutes?”

“At the mess hall,” she agreed, reaching for her keys. That gave her enough time to run back to her room – two floors and six doorways down – and grab any supplies she might need for the day’s work. Going downtown was obviously out. “Tea is a must.”

“Definitely.” He twisted into his room, halted, and then turned back towards her. “Seriously, you didn’t have to... I dunno, trade in part of your scholarship money or something, did you?”

A surprised half-smile spread across her face, the sincere concern in his expression warming her heart, and she shook her head. “No, nothing like that. But I _may_ have promised you’d see about improving its use in holographic projectors. Proposed it as a cost-saving venture." 

Fitz raised his eyebrows. “That’s... well done.”

“Do you mind?”

“ _Mind_ ,” he scoffed instantly, tugging at his shirt. “Even if they had me designing a, dunno, vibranium toilet, I’d be there.” 

“Good to know – will attempt plumbing,” she teased, hopping a few steps away when he reached out to flick at her arm. “See you in a sec.” 

“Yeah,” he said, stepping back into his room. “Thanks again, Simmons, this is really... the best present I could think of.”

Jemma gave him a quick nod, turning down the hall as he closed his door and feeling supremely smug. All the application work she’d put into achieving her aim over the past few days had been exhausting, but obviously worth the effort. Then a horrible thought stopped her short, and she stood at the archway to the staircase, stricken.

How on _earth_ was she going to top this present for his birthday next year? She’d best start brainstorming now.

 

~~

 

Tugging on the boxers he’d finally located, Fitz turned back towards the bed, halting mid-step as a wide grin split his face. Jemma sat curled on the mattress, sheets pulled loosely up to her chest to hide her nudity, with her left hand stretched in front of herself. Her eyes were fixed on the diamond-and-vibranium engagement ring newly secured to her finger and a soft smile played around her lips. Something warm spread through his chest at the sight, her hair and general appearance sex-mussed but somehow still only making her seem even more radiant.

“Not bad, eh?” he teased, scooting next to her on the bed and dropping a kiss on her shoulder.

Chuckling and nibbling at her bottom lip, Jemma waggled her fingers a little so that the jewel shimmered in the room’s dim light. “I may never stop staring at it.”

“You weren’t staring at it for a good hour and a half.” His voice was smug, but to be fair he _had_ given her two orgasms in a row, so he thought he deserved a little self-congratulating.

“That’s what _you_ think,” she shot back, leaning more heavily against him as they supported each other on the bed. She seemed to get distracted again, however, dropping her teasing to pull his right hand into her left one. Twisting their wrists to the side, he entwined their fingers, and her eyes drifted back to where the diamonds were nestled between his knuckles. “Oh, _Fitz_ , I just can’t believe you made this. It’s stunning.” Her nose wrinkled. “Well, I mean, of _course_ you _could_ make this, but....”

“I know what you meant,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Couldn’t miss the opportunity to finally pay you back. Been hard to get vibranium at all since Hydra, y’know, even with SHIELD back up and running.”

“Pay me back? For what?”

He raised an eyebrow; surely she remembered. “First ever present you gave me? Vibranium, for my seventeenth birthday.” Separating a little from her so he could meet her eyes, he brought their joined hands up and pressed his lips to her skin. “I mean, this isn’t the _last_ present I’m giving you, by any means, but it’s sort of... dunno, the last big one before we spend the rest of our lives together. Or something.” That hadn’t been nearly as romantic as he’d intended, and his brows furrowed. “I’ve already got the wedding bands ready, too,” he continued, rambling in lieu of having a better solution, “but I wanted to ask if we should engrave them, and to make sure that – _mmpfh_.”

Jemma laughed as she caressed his lips with hers, the engagement ring’s band cool against his skin as she cupped his cheek with that hand. “If you had asked me back then,” she said eventually, pulling away to smile up at him, “if I thought that getting you a day in the vibranium stores would lead to us getting married, I’d have thought you were mad.” 

Shrugging, Fitz smoothed one hand along her cheek and down to her neck, captivated by the shine to her eyes. “Seems like a decent trade.”

“What, vibranium for me?”

“Uh, no, _obviously_ I meant me.” She giggled again, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “I’m definitely worth the rarest metal in the world.” 

“Mmm, and a few other things, too,” she murmured, entangling their fingers yet again. Although she was often very cuddly after having sex, this was a different kind of affection from Jemma; as if she was so happy she couldn’t stay still.

“Y’know,” he mused, turning her hand over so it lay flat against his palm, “you don’t wear rings much. Had one undercover in Bucharest, maybe a couple other times, but I can’t think of many.”

Jemma hummed, leaning forward to capture his lips in an achingly sweet kiss. “Always thought they were a bit impractical,” she murmured against his mouth, eyes dancing in the lamplight. “I suppose I was waiting for the right one.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > @blake-wyatt reblogged your photoset [“Happy birthday, science princess!”](http://blake-wyatt.tumblr.com/post/150271093114/agentverbivore-happy-birthday-science)  
>  _#it’s going to be a magnificent birthday celebration :)#(where are my fics? lazy mornings in bed - sun shining through their window#pancakes and french toast and hot tea for breakfast - eaten among laughter on their still warm covers#and a whole day to themselves - being young and silly and idle. kissing kissing kissing.)_
> 
> I couldn’t resist your plea. ;-) Written crazy fast in an attempt to get it in before the date ended in my timezone (alas, posted here on AO3 a day late).
> 
> Rated hard T for implied sexual content.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/150295079838/birthday-pancakes).

One of Jemma’s favorite things about sharing a bed with Fitz was when he attempted to convince her to stay in bed with him. He’d gotten quite good at changing her mind, too, using a variety of arguments, including offering to be the subject of her daily workout. The morning of her 29th birthday, though, he simply tried wrapping himself around her like a koala to its favorite eucalyptus tree. As much as he made her laugh, burying his face in the back of her neck and tightening his grip around her belly when she tried to wiggle away, she insisted upon getting up before dawn. He let out a sleepy whine as he eventually loosened his grip enough for her to escape, but he followed docilely along after her without more than a few tired grunts, grumbles, and yawns.

They’d planned for this the night before, for her to watch the sun rise into the sky as her newest year on Earth began, and he’d readily agreed to join her. That didn’t mean he had to be conscious for it, however, and as the two of them stood in front of one of the Playground’s few windows, she was fairly certain that he fell asleep on his feet. As the sun inched above the surrounding mountains, he buried his face in her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning a touch too heavily against her but not enough for her to make him move. In fact, he was an excellent source of warmth on the surprisingly cool morning; so there they stood for just over half an hour, with Fitz mostly asleep and Jemma drinking in the start to their day.

Since it was early in the morning on a Sunday, very few of their colleagues populated the hallways, making it much less awkward to commandeer the staff kitchen so that they could cook breakfast. This was the one part of the morning to which Fitz genuinely protested: He’d offered to make her breakfast and bring it to her in bed, but, frankly, she wanted pancakes, and she made far better ones than he. (If she’d felt like waffles, it would be a different story entirely.) So he hovered and assisted as she made her own birthday breakfast, adorably put-out by the implication that he couldn’t follow her recipe. (He couldn’t. Or perhaps it was that she was too finicky about her pancakes - either way, she was happier making them herself, even if he pouted about it.)

Eventually, there wasn’t much for her to do other than finish flipping the last of the pancakes, with Fitz having already toted the travel tea mugs, orange juice, chopped fruit, and maple syrup to their bunk. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing as she finished up the last of the pancakes, but he was somewhere nearby.

Two arms snaked around her waist for the second time that morning, and a smile stretched across her face. “Fitz, I can’t do this with….” He shuffled forward so he was pressed tightly against her back, and his current train of thought became wildly apparent. “ _Oh_.”

“Are you done yet?” His voice was low and indistinct, lips smearing against her neck, and she couldn’t stop the breathy little sound she made in response.

“Almost,” she whispered, voice hitching as he rocked his hips gently against her arse. “Why, are you hungry?”

“Not right now.” He was ignoring her teasing, but he had one hand sliding dangerously low along the front of her bathrobe to toy with the tie of her pajama trousers, and she found herself forgetting the joke, too.

Flipping over the last four pancakes to make sure they were at least acceptably brown, Jemma flicked off the burner. “Done. Get me a -“

“Container,” he finished for her, releasing her waist to reach around and grab the plasticware he’d evidently already prepared.

Once she’d written a note taking responsibility for the dirty dishes and promising that they’d return to clean up later, they sped back to their bunk hand-in-hand, kissing in the corridors and giggling at the silliness of it all. Inside their room, Fitz peeled her back out of the clothes she’d put on just to emerge from the privacy of their shared space, and Jemma was more than happy to let the food get cold as he loved her with his mouth, his hands, his words, with every part of himself that he could give her in those two hours.

By the time they collapsed onto their sweaty sheets, spent and panting as their limbs lay tangled together, she thought about how they’d diverged from their agreed-upon plan and that she couldn’t be happier about it. An unconscious little laugh fell from her lips, and he reached one hand up to cup her jaw, bringing her gaze around to meet his.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, his face still slightly pink from exertion, and leaned down to catch her lips in a soft kiss. Not really having much to add, she just hummed her thanks against his mouth.

Normally, Jemma liked to get out of bed and start her day by being productive. But today was her birthday, and she rather thought that spending the rest of it curled up in bed with Fitz - talking and laughing and making love again after their fill of pancakes had worn off - would be productive enough all on its own.

(Besides, she had every intention of making her boyfriend heat up their breakfast and then bring it back to her in bed. If she was going to lounge around, she was going to do it right.)


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for eclecticmuses, because of reasons. Much, much <3.  
> Prompt #31, from [this list](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/150514256828/prompt-list): “If he’s going to treat you like shit, I’m going to kick his ass.” 
> 
> Rated G. Undefined Sci-Ops AU.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/150517933718/dont-insult-her-fitz).

“If he’s going to treat you like shit,” Simmons growled, fighting against where Fitz was holding her fast around the waist, “I’m going to kick his arse.”

“Simmons!” He hissed her name and unceremoniously dragged her back around the brick-laid corner, hiding them from prying gazes beneath the building’s evening shadows. Undeterred by his iron grip, she struggled against his hold.

“Let me go, Fitzopold!” She swung one of her arms forward in a half punch, only succeeding in elbowing him weakling in the shoulder. “Before he gets away!"

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out, holding her steady until she slumped grumpily against the brick wall. “'No play fighting while drunk' is one of Sci-Ops' first rules of field combat training.”

“It is not,” she muttered, whacking him half-heartedly on the shoulder. “He’s an arse.”

Fitz sighed. He should’ve known better than to bring this up around Simmons when she’d been drinking; all of her normal behaviors had a tendency to go out the window once she’d had just enough alcohol, and the term “feisty” became an oddly good descriptor for his ordinarily demure lab partner and best friend.

“Yeah, he is. But we’re only gonna need to share a floor with him for another month -”

“But you’re _clearly_ the best engineer Sci-Ops has got,” Simmons whined, twisting around where he still had his arms around her and nudging at his chest with one fist. “You don’t deserve to have people bogarting the supplies and then… then….” He raised an eyebrow as her inebriated brain fumbled to come up with the rest of the words, and he was almost successful at not thinking about the adorableness of that little wrinkle in her forehead. “Impugning your manhood.”

A huff escaped his throat, and he shook his head. “Drunk as a skunk, and you’re using words like ‘impugn.’”

“I couldn’t think of another one,” she mumbled. “And I think you’re very appropriately manly, thankyouverymuch.”

“Cheers,” he said drily, earning himself a smile. Simmons blinked up at him, eyes wide and altogether too enchanting in the shadows of the lamplit alleyway.

“He’s gone, you know. You don’t have to hold onto me anymore.” Her voice was gentle, lips tilting up in amusement, and with a start Fitz realized that he’d just sort of... kept his arms around her.

Mumbling an apology, he loosened his grip and made to step away. Instead of allowing him to move, though, Simmons curled her fingers around the buttons of his shirt, keeping him close - far closer than most ordinary best friends stood. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and he was transfixed by the expression on her face, at once thoughtful and disconcertingly alluring. After a moment, she stretched up, eyes intent on his mouth, and all of his very large quantity of brains abruptly disappeared from the now-empty cavern of his head, because, oh lord, his best friend was about to kiss him and he had no idea what to do about it. Well, except that he wanted to kiss her back. Very much. Even if the idea had literally never entered his head before five seconds ago.

Just as she was close enough that he could feel her warm breath against his lips, she flicked her eyes up to meet his and whispered: “Gotcha.”

With a triumphant grin, she sped off around the corner and back to the quad, giggling as she stumbled over the perfectly trimmed grass.

“Oh, come on!” Fitz groaned, unable to help the grin that spread across his face as he gave enthusiastic chase.

Wherever she was going, it certainly wasn’t in the direction of the bully whose arse she’d been threatening to kick. Instead, she was weaving from side to side as she turned to see if he was following, her expression lighting up again when she saw him rounding the corner and barreling straight towards her. Fitz caught her again without any trouble, although he rushed into her a little too fast and sent both of them tumbling to the grass.

“Shit,” he breathed, leaning up on his elbows and framing her face in his hands. “Shit, Jemma, are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“No,” Jemma said between laughs, giving her head an emphatic shake. “No, I’m fine, Fitz, really.”

“Okay, good.” He left one hand against her cheek, though, a little too slow after three beers to realize that he was, yet again, not quite moving away from his best friend fast enough. His very pretty best friend. His very pretty best friend that he’d had absolutely no desire to kiss until two minutes past - and again, just now.

For her part, Jemma didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was basically lying on top of her, her eyes sparkling in the quad’s lamps and her hair spread out against the green. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

“Probably a bad idea,” he muttered without thinking, stomach immediately clenching at the hurt reflected on her face. “I just mean - we’ve been drinking. You more’n me, and that’s… don’t wanna have you regretting it. Or something.”

“What if I promise that I won’t? Regret or something?” She licked her lips again, and a sigh whooshed out of him before he could stop himself. “Just once. Just to... see.”

Before Fitz could try to come up with another excuse, Jemma’s lips were ghosting against his, and all the power of resistance abruptly left him. Her eyes stayed open, locked with his as she tried pressing their mouths together a little more firmly, adjusting the angle until something clicked and in that second he knew that this couldn’t possibly only happen once. She gasped as he truly began to kiss her back, closing his eyes, slanting her mouth open, and tangling his fingers into her hair. If he was reading his best friend correctly - and he almost always did - Fitz thought that Jemma might just be willing to try this again, too.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated a hard T for naked cuddles/sex mentions. Canon-compliant.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/150987544860/an-established-routine).

Mornings, Jemma decided, really were her favorite time of day. Even in the windowless bunks of the Playground, there was something particularly enchanting about the haziness of just waking, of that first, full-body stretch, of finding warm limbs tangled affectionately with hers. That initial wash of wakefulness didn’t often last, particularly not once she and Fitz had begun sharing a bunk full time, but she treasured it each and every day.

Currently, she was draped over her boyfriend’s naked body as they both panted through their recovery from the kind of fantastic, energetic sex they were both usually too tired to engage in before bed. With her promotion and Fitz’s tireless work on virtually every SHIELD scientific advancement on the books, by the time they met up at their bunk at the end of the day, neither of them had the energy to seduce or be seduced. So, being the enterprising young woman that she was, Jemma had begun seducing Fitz in the mornings instead. For someone who had vociferously hated mornings for his entire life, he apparently didn’t mind this particular kind of wake-up.

“That was nice,” she murmured, tilting her head so she could nibble gently at the extended tendon of his neck. A groan rumbled from his bare chest to hers as her teeth scraped against his stubble, and she grinned.

“It’s a good thing you were promoted,” Fitz rasped, hooking one finger under her chin to raise her gaze to his, the depthless blue of his eyes making her breath catch. “Couldn’t look at you in front of other people after that display.”

“You’re such a delicate flower,” she teased, stretching up to catch his lips for a lazy kiss. He slid his hands up her back, goosebumps trailing in his wake as her sweat began to cool in the air conditioned room.

“So,” he murmured against her lips, “do we have time for, y’know….”

“Another go around??” Jemma’s eyebrows arched high as she leaned back to give him a droll look. “ _Really_ , Fitz!”

“No!” If his face wasn’t already flushed from their vigorous workout, she was certain he’d be blushing. “I meant to, y’know, just… stay for a bit. Here.”

Another smile slid across her lips, and she nuzzled up at him. “ _Ohhh_ , to cuddle?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, futilely attempting to tuck the wild ends of her hair behind one ear. “That.”

“I think we can manage another few minutes.”

After kissing him again - one hand scratching through the trimmed edges of his curls, their heartbeats slowing into regular rhythms in tune with each other’s - Jemma’s back began to protest her holding this position for quite this long. So she set about separating their hips, both of them inhaling at the last wash of feeling the movement sent through their bodies, and then grabbed the tissue box for Fitz.

Once he’d cleaned up enough to be comfortable, she resettled herself against his chest and tugged the sheets and blanket up over them.

“I can’t believe you’re cold already.” Jemma tilted her head up to where he was shaking his head at her.

“I’m not _yet_ ,” she amended, stretching the truth a little. “But I will be. And you _know_ they keep it too cold on the base to prevent the security systems from overheating, that’s not _my_ fault!”

“I know,” Fitz murmured, grinning as he dropped a kiss on her nose. “I love you, ice buckets and all.”

Laughing, Jemma curved her hand around his jaw as they ghosted their lips languidly together. Although she’d always been a morning person, the problem with waking up next to Fitz was that she usually never wanted to leave their bed.

Eventually, she yawned and tucked her head underneath his chin, tracing idle patterns on his wonderfully pasty chest. “How was your day yesterday?”

Underneath her, she could feel Fitz’s muscles stiffen slightly, and she leaned back to get a better view of his face.

“Fine.” When he gave her what was supposed to be a neutral half-smile, she noted the tighter pull of his lips. “Radcliffe’s running off with another one of his crazy ideas. He’s always better when you’re there, wish you could’ve come.”

The familiarity of his words notwithstanding, Jemma could tell that there was something else hovering behind his eyes. After a moment of silent eye contact, she let out a slow breath. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Isn’t there?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Fitz stilled his hand where he’d been absently running his fingers up and down her spine. “Yeah.”

She sighed, and snuggled back in against his chest. Not knowing everything had always frustrated her - it’s why she’d always had so many questions when she’d been growing up, after all - but until they figured out the new Director’s motives, she’d have to make do. Hopefully, Fitz would be able to tell her the truth someday soon. (Until then, she was confident enough that she could fool the lie detector into thinking she was worried her boyfriend was hiding something from her, which would sound asinine enough to any ordinary SHIELD comms analyst.)

“Okay.”

Another pause spread through the air between them, and he tightened his arms around her. “I _really_ do love you, y’know.”

“I love you, too,” she replied, pressing two light kisses to the join of his neck and shoulder. “We’ll just have to live with this, for now.”

Fitz let out a slow breath, and she could feel him craning his neck above her. “It’s five to seven.”

“Five minutes then,” she murmured, gently squeezing his right shoulder. “Just five more minutes.”

With everything going on in their working lives, Jemma would take every spare second together that she could get - even if it was doing something as simple as cuddling with Fitz in the wild mess of their bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you want an M-rated canon-compliant ficlet based on the 4x02 line "Cue Jemma gasping," you can find that [here](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/151056170768/that-gasp). It's too PWP/high of a rating for this ficlet collection. :-) )


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in celebration of **#NationalBoyfriendDay**!  
>  (Let’s just pretend that 4x02 aired on October 4th, okay? Okay.)
> 
> Jemma’s plans for the evening go slightly awry, but Fitz doesn’t mind.
> 
> Rated a **hard T** for a particular outfit at the end. Canon-compliant.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/151361441023/asleep-on-the-job).

Fitz was absolutely exhausted. After he and Mack had watched Daisy leave them yet again (forever, this time? What for? They were never as strong apart as they were together), he’d forced himself to finish logging the mission and checking equipment into the base’s stores before calling it quits. Mack had finished his work in absolute silence, and everything seemed heavier than it had when they’d departed the Playground this afternoon.

“ _Meet you at home_.”

The warmth Fitz felt when he saw Jemma’s text was followed shortly by another wave of fatigue at the thought of having to tell her what had happened on the mission, from being confronted with a phenomenon that he couldn’t fathom, to being confronted with the cold shadow of his once best friend. _Their_ once best friend. He simply didn’t have the energy for that conversation tonight, as much as he didn’t like having to put off telling his girlfriend anything.

When he finally made it to his and Jemma’s shared living space, his frown softened as soon as he pushed the door open. In spite of the fact that the room was brightly lit, she was wrapped in her bathrobe and curled up in a ball on her side of the bed, sleeping peacefully. Clearly, she’d planned on waiting up for him but had fallen asleep doing so, and a burst of affection distracted Fitz from the task of getting himself ready for bed.

Once he’d secured their door, Fitz tossed his blazer over the back of a desk chair and sat gently along the edge of the bed. Her face was relaxed in sleep, the light casting an angelic halo over the crown of her head, and he reached forward to smooth his fingers along the soft curve of her jaw. That brief touch didn’t wake her, so he scooted closer in and leaned down to feather his lips across her forehead, her temple, her cheek, her nose.

Slowly, Jemma stirred beneath him, eyes blinking open and a soft smile tilting up her mouth.

“Fitz,” she murmured, one hand coming up to curl around his jaw just before their lips met. She hummed against him, and he was reminded of why coming home to her was all he needed at the end of any difficult day.

Abruptly, she made a strangled little gasp and pushed against his shoulders, startling Fitz enough that he almost toppled right off of the bed.

“Oh no _,_ ” Jemma exclaimed, scrambling away from him and tightening the tie of her robe. “Oh no, oh _no_ , you’re home!”

“Thanks,” he retorted, distracted from the sarcastic, almost-genuinely-hurt comment he wanted to make by the fact that she tugged him sharply off of their bed and started shoving him back towards the door.

“You have to come in again!”

“What??”

“I fell asleep,” she whined, letting out an annoyed tsk as he dug his feet into the carpet. “I had a whole plan, and - you have to go out and come back in.”

“Jemma -!”

“That’s an order!”

They paused, Fitz with his back to the doorframe and Jemma with one hand on the brick wall and the other gripping the door handle, both of them matched in stubbornness if not quite in height. He had the fleeting thought that he was genuinely torn between bickering back at her and doing exactly as she told him. (Because, _Christ_ , he really liked that tone of voice on her.)

“Fine,” he muttered at last, allowing her to tug the door open and manhandle him through it. “Madwoman, you are.“

“You’ll thank me in a minute,” Jemma replied cheekily, giving him a bright smile before she slammed the door in his face.

Sighing, Fitz looked around to make sure no one had just seen his girlfriend shove him unceremoniously out of their room. That could lead to all sorts of rumors that he _really_ didn’t want to deal with - and above nearly anything else in this world, SHIELD agents loved gossip.

“Okay!” called Jemma’s voice from inside, and he rolled his eyes.

When he entered their room for a second time that night, Fitz raised his eyebrows skeptically as all that had changed was that now Jemma stood in the center of the room, one hand planted jauntily on her hip.

“Happy national boyfriend day,” she said, voice low and seductive, as he turned to lock their door once again. The sight that greeted him when he turned back around, however, nearly made him swallow his tongue, and he entirely forgot to make fun of his girlfriend’s penchant for celebrating inane, non-holidays.

Having dropped the satin blue robe onto the floor, Jemma now stood clad only in skimpy lingerie that he was certain she’d never worn before. The barely-there fabric was sheer white, and three little blue bows trailed crossways over each breast. Beneath the fabric he could see the dusky shadow of both nipples, and the knickers could barely even be called that, the small strip of white connected by thin strings that arced up over her hips. He had the impression that he may have forgotten to breathe.

“Well?” Jemma grinned knowingly at him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Do you like your present?”

He let out a cross between a grunt of agreement and a growl, and then promptly stalked forward to push her backwards onto their bed and capture her lips with his. Jemma’s giggles rung out in the otherwise quiet of their room, and, as he sucked at the skin over her pulse point, he tried to decide on his next move.

Suddenly, Fitz wasn’t so tired anymore.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ann.foley** : Episode 403: this is the episode Simmons gets a new necklace & earrings! The designer is my friend @katrinakellyjewelry & one of the reasons @lil_henstridge & I were attracted to this necklace was the story behind the piece. It’s called the Sea Star Wish Wand - **“This charm was inspired by the designer’s love of the sea & cosmos. 2 great mysteries that inspire wonder, magic, dreams, enlightenment & exploration. Always remember that there is always light & a BIG bright star amongst the darkness.”** \- Katrina Kelly ([x](https://www.instagram.com/p/BLcH0J5geTX/))
> 
> Rated G. Canon-compliant, missing moment. Pre-season 4.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/151733852063/starlight-youre-mine).

Securing the promotion to special advisor to the director in science and technology was the most important thing in Jemma’s life right now; at least, that’s what she kept telling herself. If she didn’t get promoted, Director Mace had the power to split her and the team as far apart as he liked, and she wouldn’t let that happen again. Sometimes, though, it was hard to remember the reasons why she was pushing herself so hard, particularly when the words began to blur together on her computer screen.

With a sigh, she leaned back in her desk chair and rubbed her eyes. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be a late night, although it wasn’t as if she’d be able to spend her hypothetical free time as she wished anyway. Fitz was working round the clock to get Zephyr One ready for its longest-ever mission away from the Playground, and the scheduled departure was only thirty-six hours from now. Jemma glanced at the bottom of her computer monitor. Thirty-five hours.

“Simmons! What’re you still doing here?” She turned to see Fitz having just paused halfway into the lab, and he switched directions, from heading towards his normal workspace to hers.

“I’m writing an extra operations report,” she explained, making sure that it was far past the time when anyone else was in the lab before reaching out to take his hand. “The Director seemed to like the last one I did….” Breaking off on a jaw-cracking yawn, she gave her head a quick shake and then leaned it back against Fitz’s abdomen. “How are the Zephyr’s upgrades going?”

“They’re going,” he said, moving his other hand to rub her shoulder and upper arm. “We’ll finish in time, I think, but we’ve got a lot left. And the camouflage’s been acting up again, bloody thing.”

“Can I h-” Jemma cut herself off on another yawn, and Fitz made a low tut.

“No. Do what you need to do, and then go to bed. Dunno if I’ll be joining you there tonight, but….” He paused, moved his hand from her shoulder, and seemed to lightly pat his trousers pocket. “Actually, d’you have five minutes?”

Tilting her head up, she gave him a wry smile. “Considering the fact that it’s almost midnight, I don’t think the Director will be waiting by his computer for this one.”

Fitz stepped back to glance around the lab, much as she had just done, and then reached forward with both hands to tug her out of her chair. “C’mon, then.”

Once he’d led her behind a tall section of shelving in the back of the room, he turned and reached into his pocket. “I was just gonna put it on your bedside table, but this is better anyway.”

Taking her hand, he pressed a small, velvet bag into her palm, and Jemma couldn’t help the quiet coo she let out. “Oh, Fitz,” she murmured, glancing up to give him a quick smile. “What is….” Out of the bag slid a golden chain and pendant, which was shaped like an unusual, patterned star, inlaid with six crystals. “Oh my.”

“If you…” he started, gently reaching over to pull a folded piece of paper out of the bag. “There. Read that.”

Taking a second to secure the chain around her neck, Jemma then took the paper out of her best friend’s hand and started to read out loud. “This charm was inspired by the designer’s love of the sea and the cosmos,” she began, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Two great mysteries that inspire wonder, magic, dreams, enlightenment, and exploration.”

“Then on the back,” Fitz interrupted, and she shot him an amused look. His excitement was infectious, and she was exercising great control in not immediately throwing her arms around his neck.

On the back of the card was another saying in the same formal font as the front, but this time Jemma almost couldn’t read the words out loud because a lump formed in her throat the second she processed their meaning. “Remember that there is always light and a big, bright star within the darkness.”

“I know you were disappointed we had to cancel our trip again,” Fitz said, seemingly incapable of waiting any longer, and wrapped both her hands within his. “But I promise, Jemma, the second we can get away, we’ll go straight to the Seychelles, and we won’t look back.” When she didn’t answer - as she was trying to fight back the happy tears that were threatening to escape - he reached up to cup her cheek. “In the meantime, this,” he said, tapping at the pendant, “is a promise. One day we’ll get there. Okay?”

“I don’t know what to say,” she breathed into a wide, tremulous smile, although she successfully kept the tears at bay. “I love it.” Stretching forward, she leaned her forehead against his, brushing their noses together in an eskimo kiss that brought a smile to Fitz’s face. “I love _you_.”

“Love you, too,” he replied quietly, brushing their lips together in a brief, sweet kiss. Neither of them much liked the thought of getting caught by any one of their colleagues - they were very private about their relationship, and would continue to be so - but every so often, they indulged in little moments like these. “And good. Wasn’t sure.”

Jemma’s eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. “If I would like beautiful jewelry?”

“The date,” he retorted with a quality eyeroll. “Four month anniversary of when we, you know….”

At that, she nearly burst into laughter, and leaned back to hold him at arms length. “When we _had sex_?!”

“What?” he spluttered. “No! When we, y’know, got together. Officially.”

Grinning, she shuffled back in and curled her fingers around the buttons of his shirt. A blush was beginning to spread up his neck. “Which _mostly_ just involved us, ah, crossing the event horizon. If I remember correctly. Twice. In a Bucharest hotel that smelled like lemon cleaner.”

“There was more to it than that,” he mumbled, hands settling lightly on her waist.

With an amused tut, Jemma leaned back in to kiss him again. One of the more fascinating things that she had been learning about dating her best friend was how the tension in his muscles always faded away when they kissed. Not the kind that came from arousal or excitement, of course, but if he was upset or embarrassed, all she had to do to calm him down was press their lips together. It was a shame she hadn’t known about this secret shortcut to soothing Fitz a long time ago, she thought as she smiled against his lips - it would have made exam time at the Academy far less stressful for them both.

“Alright,” he sighed at last, nuzzling briefly against her cheek. “I should head back. Told them I was just grabbing something quickly.”

“Good luck with the Zephyr.” She gave him an encouraging smile as he scooted past her back into the main part of the lab, letting their fingers slip apart. “Try to sneak in a few hours of sleep, if you can.”

“I will,” he responded automatically, grabbing an aluminum case from beneath his desk. “‘Night, Jemma.”

“Goodnight, Fitz,” she called after him. Letting out a small puff of air, she turned back towards her workstation.

Her goal for the night was to finish this report, and like hell if Jemma Simmons ever left one of her goals unachieved. Besides, even if Fitz wouldn’t be able to make it back to their bed tonight, at least she would have his promise to hold as she drifted off to sleep, feeling the way the sea star’s ridges slid against the pads of her forefinger and thumb.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to the March for Science last weekend, and since I went armed with [eclecticmuses](http://eclecticmuses.tumblr.com)' wonderful [FitzSimmons commission](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/159076170507/eclecticmuses-commissioned-by-agentverbivore-in) for me, I couldn’t resist writing a flufflet about the two of them actually marching. All signs mentioned were ones I saw.
> 
> (A brief exchange was inspired by one I had with [ifwehadamonkey](http://eclecticmuses.tumblr.com) later that day!)
> 
> Rated G, in a canon-divergent s4 where everyone’s happy, healthy & in reality. ;-)
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160021074402/soaked-for-science).

“Four hours.”

Jemma groaned, droplets flying off the sleeve of her sunflower-patterned raincoat as she whacked him on the shoulder. “Ugh, _Fitz_ –”

“We’ve been standing in the rain for four hours.”

A burst of static crackled over the sound system as speakers changed places on the stage. 

“And so has everyone else,” she pointed out, hopping slightly onto her tiptoes to glimpse something at the side of the crowd. Fitz reached out instinctively to hover one hand over her lower back, ready to catch her should she slip on the sopping wet grass. 

“I can barely remember what it was like to be dry –” 

“Oh, for –” 

“I’ve never seen fingers wrinkle because of rain –”

Clapping her hands together, Jemma let out a little noise of excitement and grabbed onto his arm, interrupting his good-natured complaining. “Fitz, look!” He followed where she was pointing, blinking as rain dripped into his eyes. “Not all superheroes wear capes,” she said, reading the sign that she’d spotted within the crowd, “most wear lab coats!” 

“Daisy’d agree with that,” he said with a grin. “I don’t think _any_ superheroes wear capes. Too impractical.”

“Thor does,” Jemma corrected him, raising her mobile to snap a photo. “And I think – I’m not sure there are many pictures of him, but doesn’t Vision wear a cape, too?”

“No _human_ superhero, then,” he amended, shoving his hands back into his jacket pockets. The attempt to keep them dry was futile by this point, with the rally nearly over and everything he was wearing officially soaked through, but it helped him feel like he was doing something to stave off the unrelenting damp.

When they’d first left their apartment, Fitz had been excited to go to the March for Science. Both he and Jemma were thrilled that there was a protest dedicated to their chosen professions, and to the ideals that they both upheld as SHIELD scientists: Research, ethical experimentation, evidence, and truth. They’d been planning on attending for months, ever since its announcement, and had even spent a night earlier this week carefully lettering out their homemade signs. But of course, the cosmos had a different bloody plan, and the heavens had opened up as soon as they’d stepped onto the grassy knoll by the Washington Monument.

Fitz blamed himself. If he hadn’t gone, the sun would probably be shining. 

As it was, both their signs had all but melted in the rain, with him ditching his an hour ago on his way to use the loo. Jemma still had hers, having leaned it against a nearby camping chair, and she’d managed to sweet-talk someone into giving her one of the free ones that they’d missed. Since it said “I heart science” with an anatomically correct heart drawn instead of the word or the artificial symbol, she was particularly enamored of it, and had excitedly chattered about hanging it in her office at the Playground. Privately, he wasn’t sure it would survive the rest of the march, seeing as the cardboard was already looking more than a little wrinkly, but he had just smiled back at her enthusiasm.

Most of the day’s worth, so far and unsurprisingly, had just been getting to bask in Jemma’s unfettered excitement. Although they were both introverts by nature, Fitz shied instinctively away from crowds like this, while she fed off the others’ energy. Even if he didn’t enjoy being caught in this sea of people, he drew ceaseless joy from watching his fiancée be so abundantly happy herself. This was usually how the two of them were perceived outside of the lab, anyway – the peppy biochemist and the grumpy engineer (except where monkeys were concerned) – even if it usually didn’t involve a few thousand of their distant colleagues.

Or, well, not so distant. They’d greeted more than one of their SHIELD co-workers as they’d meandered through the crowd before the rally had begun, and Jemma had excitedly informed him that she’d spotted Agents Crawford and Piper holding hands by the #PoetsForScience tent. 

At long last, with a final cheer for Bill Nye, the rally finished, and the speakers began the march officially. Once some of the crowd had dissipated from around the Monument, Jemma tugged Fitz forward to take a selfie in front of the stage. Although he had longer arms, she was somehow still better at taking selfies, so again she slipped her thankfully water-resistant mobile out of her pocket and raised it in front of them.

“Take your hood off.”

“I look like a wet rat.” 

Jemma cooed, squeezing her other arm around his middle. “But the _cutest_ wet rat.”

Fitz rolled his eyes as he nodded the hood off, and then glanced down with every intention of sticking his tongue out at her. But before he could open his mouth, he was distracted by the sheer happiness radiating from Jemma’s face. She was all bright smiles and shining brown eyes, and thanks to the rain or the sky, her lips were a particularly fetching shade of pink. 

Although he heard the mobile’s false shutter sound click, he ignored it, instead reaching over to slide his hand under her jaw. Jemma blinked up at him, briefly nonplussed until he pressed their mouths together. Despite the chill of the rain, her lips were warm, and she eagerly kissed him back.

Again, he heard the fake shutter click. 

Pulling away, Fitz wrinkled his nose as he glanced over at the mobile, which she was still holding away from them with her right arm. “Did you take a picture of that?” 

“I did,” she answered cheerfully, and then nudged his shoulder. “But smile this time!”

Once he had dutifully smiled just enough that Jemma let him put his hood back on, Fitz shifted around so that he could slide his hand around her left one.

“Jemma,” he exclaimed, tugging her hand up so that he could wrap both of his around it, “your hand is bloody freezing!”

“Oh, yes,” she replied absently, busy snapping pictures of two kids wearing drenched lab coats and goggles with her other hand. “I’m a bit cold.”

A tremor ran through her, and he let out a sharp noise of dissatisfaction. “Can you stop taking pictures for two seconds please?”

Letting out a _tsk_ of annoyance, she lowered her hand. “One, two – there!” Before she could lift the mobile again, he reached out and snatched it away. “Hey!”

Fitz dropped the gadget into his jacket pocket and reached out to grab her other hand so he could bundle both her hands together with his. “I’ll give it back in a minute,” he mumbled, cupping his hands and breathing against her icy skin. “I’m not letting you catch pneumonia ‘cause of another ‘there is no planet B’ sign.”

“Actually, it said ‘girls just want to have funding,’” she sniffed, but allowed him to continue to try to return some semblance of warmth to her hands. “I’m fine,” she said quietly, shuffling closer. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

“Oh _really_ ,” he deadpanned, glancing up to meet her overly innocent gaze.

“Probably,” she amended, and he let out a small huff before blowing warm air over her hands again. “Come on, the sooner we get marching, the sooner we can get out of the rain.”

Grumbling, he allowed Jemma to disentangle their hands so she could pluck her mobile out of his pocket. She was right about that. But he stubbornly reached for her left hand as they got moving, holding tight and willing his own natural body heat to transfer at least a little bit of warmth to his fiancée. Fortunately, she didn’t object, instead leaning up to peck a kiss against his cheek before getting distracted by other signs in the crowd.

The walk itself was familiarly damp by this point, but by scooting to the outside of the slow-moving mass, at least they were able to proceed down Constitution Avenue at a decent clip. As much as he had actually enjoyed the rally, his whining notwithstanding, Fitz felt better now that he was no longer stuck standing in one place. So he perked up, able to better enjoy watching Jemma’s enthusiasm and laughing with her about the signs. Every few minutes, waves of cheering rolled down the avenue towards them, and they both answered the call, grinning at each other as they did. There was something comforting knowing that they were in a crowd of a few thousand people who wouldn’t normally be this loud, either.

It didn’t take long to reach the end of the march – or at least, to get as close to the Capitol as they could following the large crowd that had already gathered. After taking a few last water-logged pictures with the historic building behind them, Fitz insisted on dragging Jemma to the first coffee place they could find; he wanted her to have something warm to hold (and drink) on the ride back to their apartment. Her hands had not warmed up on the walk down Constitution, and he was seriously beginning to worry about her having contracted pneumonia. (An exasperated voice in the back of his head said that he was probably overreacting, but he argued with himself that getting her a warm cup of tea was on the low end of overreaction.)

The first open store that they found was, unsurprisingly, a Starbucks, and so after a bit of quick chair-grabbing, Fitz left Jemma to guard their table while he ordered drinks. Raindrops slithered down his temple as he reached for the two paper cups, and he gave his head a quick shake, nose wrinkling as the steaming water in one of the cups rippled in response. That was definitely his cup now.

When he approached Jemma at their table, she was staring open-mouthed at her mobile, and he wasn’t sure if there were tears in her eyes or it was a side-effect of having been soaking wet for the past five hours.

“Jemma?” Fitz put her cup gently onto the table, dropping sugar packets for the both of them beside it. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked up at him, her smile lighting up the room even on this greyest of days. “Oh, Fitz,” she whispered, “look.”

As he slid into his wooden chair, she turned her mobile to reveal one of the selfies she’d taken at the rally stage. In it, Jemma was grinning madly at the mobile’s camera and he was ignoring it completely, too busy smiling down at her with breathless adoration. 

“Oh,” he said, darting his eyes back to her. “Er, sorry?”

“What?!” She shook her head, placing the mobile screen-up on the table between them. “Oh, no, Fitz, I _love_ it.” After glancing quickly around to make sure that they were mostly sheltered by one of the shop’s odd decorative walls, she reached up to take his face in her hands and press in for a slow kiss. When she broke away, she nuzzled at his nose and pressed their foreheads together. “It’s just so – seeing that, is so... I like seeing....”

“That I’m completely,” he murmured, sliding his hand up around her neck, “and totally, one hundred percent....” She gazed up at him with wide, honey-brown eyes, hanging on his every word. “Ready to not be wet any more?” 

Jemma let out a cross between a laugh and a groan, and pushed hard at his shoulders, nearly sending him off his chair. “Ugh, _Fitz_!”

“But I’m also,” he added, reaching out to bundle her arms into his, “very much in love with you.” 

Giving him an exaggerated eyeroll, she settled into his hold, allowing him to curl his fingers around hers. “I love you, too, you grump.”

“Your grump,” Fitz pointed out, kissing her hands. 

“My grump,” Jemma agreed with a smile.

He knew he should let go so she could actually drink the hot tea, but he rather liked being able to warm her up himself. Soon enough, they’d take a Lyft home and perhaps warm up in other, more exciting ways, but for the moment Fitz was happily basking in a day spent with his favorite person in the world. Sure, he was probably wetter than he had gotten the last time they’d gone to the beach, but science and Jemma were both worth far steeper prices to pay than this.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 3 years of me writing FitzSimmons fanfic, I did a [giveaway on my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160844997228/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the)! Ficlets are being posted here as I finish them.
> 
> _this-is-my-winter-song asked: Prompt! Doctor AU - Jemma is an ER doctor at a hospital and Fitz is brought in after a minor car crash. Turns out they went on one disastrous date their first year of college, never stayed in touch, and Fitz takes it as fate giving them a do-over._
> 
> Rated G. Hospital AU.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/161029013194/prompt-doctor-au-jemma-is-an-er-doctor-at-a).

Tuesdays were, without a doubt, cursed. Leo Fitz decided this as he sat in the ER and prayed for the ground to swallow him whole.

Two hours ago, he’d gotten in a small car accident when a little old lady had rear-ended him on his way home from work. Forty-five minutes ago, the hospital had said they wanted him to wait for examination by one of its top neurologists, to make sure that his pre-existing condition hadn’t been exacerbated by the minor head-bump. And ten minutes ago, said top neurologist had strutted into the ER, taken one look at him, and frozen with her lips parted in shock. That was approximately when Fitz began to pray that the hellmouth would just open up beneath him and end his misery.

Dr. Jemma Simmons was without a doubt the most amazing person Fitz had ever met. So, naturally, she hated him.

To be fair, said hatred was also Fitz’s fault. Sort of.

Almost a decade ago, the two of them had gone on one date, the likes of which he was convinced he’d never experience again. Having met at a _Doctor Who_ trivia night in Dupont, they had then spent the following Saturday wandering the pathways of the National Zoo during its winter event, laughing at the monkeys, admiring the lights, and generally having the best night of Fitz’s achingly isolated youth. When they’d parted, he’d been brave enough to lean over and give her a polite but warm peck on the cheek. Simmons had turned her head just enough so that their lips brushed together, her fingers tightening around his and sending tingles of promise through his whole body.

And then Fitz’s entire life had imploded. Or at least, his mobile had, when he’d tripped and dropped it six stories down the center stairwell of his building onto the concrete basement floor. For some godforsaken reason, he had just typed her number into the notes app rather than enter it into his contacts, and when he had managed to wring off any unsynced data from the remnants of his phone, the number had been gone. Googling had been fruitless, as had returning to the trivia bar to see if she might have been a regular. With absolute horror, Fitz had realized that he’d managed to lose his one shot at being with the only woman in whom he had ever truly been interested.

Simmons, having recovered from her surprise at seeing him in her ER so many years later, had informed him that she was running a bit behind but would be back to examine him as quickly as she was able. While he awaited what was sure to be the world’s most awkward doctor’s visit, he tortured himself by recounting the perfect date in vivid detail in his mind, just to remind himself why he was a complete arse before she came back.

“Alright, Mr. Fitz,” Simmons said as she swept back over to his cot, “I’ll try to make this as quick and painless as possible.”

“Right,” Fitz mumbled, ears heating up as he thought about how she probably wanted to be rid of him so she wouldn’t have to think about him having never called her back. Even if he wished fervently that he could have. “And it’s – just Fitz is fine.”

“Let’s see what we have here.” She began to flip through his file, brows furrowing as she studied his unusual medical history. “Acute hypoxia due to near drowning… I can see why Doctor Crawford wanted a consultation.”

“Lucky for me, no water involved tonight,” he returned with a wry smile. “Just a head bump, I feel fine.”

“She was right to call for me.” Simmons tossed him a stern look over her shoulder as she finished her notes and reached for a nearby cart full of supplies. “Do you mind if I –”

“Two years ago, out on a field expedition,” he said, anticipating her question and averting his eyes. He hated telling this story. “I was on the Potomac with my team, testing autonomous aquatic drones. Weather turned sour, and on our way to shore we saw an overturned kayak. A dad and two kids, but one was missing. I saw her, jumped for her, got caught in the current and was pulled under. She was okay. I was in a short coma.”

Fitz chose not to add that making sure his team had the girl first had been when the current had caught him, dragging him so rapidly away that his team said they didn’t even hear him disappear. In retrospect, he thought it made him seem rather foolish, even if his friends and co-workers vehemently disagreed. The fact that he had never been a strong swimmer hadn’t exactly been a secret.

“Oh my,” Simmons breathed, and he chanced a look in her direction. She was staring slack-jawed at him, metal tool held loosely between her fingers. “That’s…” she started, clearing her throat and stepping forward to begin the examination. For a brief second, he thought he saw something akin to admiration in her eyes, but it disappeared immediately. “That’s quite heroic of you.”

A small smile tilted up the corner of his mouth despite his attempt to subdue it, and he shrugged. As much as he generally tried not to think about the act of bravery that had almost taken his life, he found himself feeling rather pleased at Simmons’ compliment.

The rest of the examination was simultaneously perfunctory and pure torture for Fitz. It required her to stand close enough that he could smell her lavender shampoo, that he could see the edge of her clavicle peeking out from beneath the collar of her scrubs, that he could almost taste the memory of her lips. He tried to convince himself to say something, anything, at the very least to apologize for having disappeared from the face of the earth after they’d so enjoyed each others’ company. But the perfect words wouldn’t come, and as she laid the stethoscope on the table and told him he was cleared and free to go, he panicked.

“I didn’t hate you!”

Simmons’ shoulders stiffened, and she glanced around to see that patients, nurses, and doctors were blessedly not in the nearby vicinity. “Pardon?”

Fitz stood next to the ER bed, cringing and twisting the thumb of one hand into the palm of the other, and wished yet again that a hole in the universe would show up beneath him at any second.

“That, um, didn’t come out right,” he said at last, taking a halting step towards her. “I mean, when I didn’t call you. I wanted to. I tried to find you, I went back to that bar, I spent hours Googling and Facebooking and d’you have _any_ idea how many Jemma Simmonses there are on the East Coast? ‘Cause there are a lot, and I looked through all of them, but not one of them was you. And I’m really, _really_ bloody sorry I didn’t call you, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

After making it through his entire pathetic, rambled speech, she frowned and tilted her head. “But I – Fitz, I gave you my number.”

“Oh, yeah, no, you did, but I – um, accidentally destroyed my phone.” He winced, knowing just how ludicrous his story sounded.

Her eyes narrowed. “You accidentally destroyed your phone?”

“By dropping it from the sixth floor. And just….” Cutting himself off, he sighed. “Please believe me. I spent months hating myself when I couldn’t find you.”

Simmons stared at him in silence for a few seconds, and, just as he was about to let his shoulders droop and then escape the hospital as quickly as possible, she let out a low laugh. “You know, I’d thought you’d given me a fake number,” she said, “when it never connected. And I – you couldn’t find me online because I don’t use my last name on Facebook. It’s just Jemma Anne.”

“Jemma Anne,” he repeated, feeling vaguely faint with relief that she hadn’t just shown him the door. “I didn’t know you had a middle name.”

“And _you_ don’t have a Facebook either,” she pointed out, and his eyes widened. Apparently, Simmons had gone looking for him, too.

“I couldn’t,” he explained. “To make it easier to get a security clearance. Any engineering lab I’d wanna work at in D.C. would need a top one, so no Facebook. No online trail at all, if I could help it.”

Something in her face had shifted in the past few seconds, honey-brown eyes now holding a tentative warmth that he remembered vividly from that one night so very long past. “Well,” she said at last, one hand fiddling with the hem of her scrubs shirt, “that really is some rotten luck.”

“I know,” he said ruefully. “I’ve been cursing the bloody cosmos about it for years.”

Nibbling at the inside of her bottom lip, she glanced up at the clock. “Are you busy tonight?”

Fitz’s eyes widened. “No! Wait, shit, um, yes – calling the auto shop about my car. But, um, other than that, no.”

A smile broke across her face. “Okay. I’m still on shift for another hour and a half, but –”

“I can wait,” he blurted, cheeks reddening, and wondered why he hadn’t managed to achieve any kind of smoothness in the decade since he’d seen her. “I mean, I can call them from the, um, the lobby, it’s fine.”

“Okay. I’ll come find you – oh!” Letting out a small _tsk_ , she stepped into his space. “Give me your phone.”

“Right, yeah, good call,” he muttered, digging his Plus out of his pocket, unlocking it, and handing it over. “Don’t trust me with that, I’m clearly hopeless.”

“But in a cute kind of way.” She flitted her gaze up to meet his over the edge of the phone, and he fought off the gormless smile that threatened to take over his whole face. If he wasn’t careful, he was pretty sure he was teetering on the edge of being very-not-cool in his level of interest in her.

“I’ll see you later, then?” he offered when she returned his phone.

“Count on it,” Simmons returned, eyes shining at him with warmth and promise and excitement, before being called away by another doctor.

Resisting the urge to do a small hop and fist-pump, he glanced down at his phone as he navigated through the ER – and then stopped short as he read the beginning of the entry she’d put into his contacts.

_Name: Dr. Jemma Anne Simmons, MD-PhD  
_ _Company: Yours (if you’ll have me)_

With a wide grin, Fitz took a screenshot of the entry and texted it to her number, along with a message: _Only if you’ll have me right back_.

After a few seconds, he received a one-word reply: _Deal_.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 3 years of me writing FitzSimmons fanfic, I'm doing a [giveaway on my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160844997228/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the)! Follow the rules, and you can still submit prompts. :-) Ficlets will be posted here as I finish them.
> 
> _theresalwaysaway asked: For the Ficlet giveaway: Vet Clinic AU + FitzSimmons in honor of Iain's days playing Young James Herriot_   
>  _ronandhermy asked: Drabble prompt: The debate over what type of pet to get rages on._
> 
> Rated G. Vet Clinic AU.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/161057500748/for-the-ficlet-giveaway-vet-clinic-au).

Jemma sighed and rolled her eyes to the side so she was staring pointedly at her husband and fellow veterinary clinic co-owner. “It’s never going to happen.”

Hands busily trying to fix his newest diagnostic machine, Fitz let out a grumble that bordered on a whine. “But if we just advertised in the right places –”

“Zoos don’t bring monkeys to ordinary clinics, Fitz! That’s not how they work!” She threw up her hands, nearly letting the lab coat she was holding fly across the room in her incredulity.

Generally, Fitz took care of the clinic’s technological research and development while Jemma headed up the veterinary duties (along with her assistants), but they both worked together on the actual operation of the clinic itself. That necessitated discussions about the kinds of clients they attracted and accepted (an equal mix of high-end clientele and free care for those who could not afford the kind of treatments their pets certainly deserved). Today, Fitz had apparently decided that they should angle for more monkey clientele, and Jemma was torn between being amused and vaguely exasperated by this idea that he’d taken to like a barnacle to basalt.

“I was just thinking,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, and she fought to keep a grin off her lips, “that if you got to examine one, I could help!”

“You don’t like the veterinary part of our job,” she reminded him, and he waved a dismissive hand at her.

“I wouldn’t do anything, y’know, with fluids, or – or needles. But what if they need to be calmed down? Monkeys can have high levels of anxiety, y’know, just like humans, and I could be very helpful with that. Give them bananas and that sort of thing.” With a little flourish, he finished making his adjustments and turned to her with a wide-eyed look of hope that almost made her want to give in. Almost. “You’re always saying we need to diversify our clients, to keep the rich ones comin’ so we can afford to treat the rest. People who have monkeys have gotta be rich, right?”

Warmth spread briefly through Jemma’s chest, and once he’d put down his screwdriver she reached out to take Fitz’s hand, feeling their wedding bands slide coolly against each others’ skin. He had been the one to suggest focusing on finding ways to treat pets whose owners couldn’t afford to pay, and even if sometimes his ideas centered around slightly unrealistic things (like an unceasing desire to befriend at least one monkey in his lifetime), his heart truly was always in the right place.

“We can look into exotic pet stores on the east coast,” she said slowly, and his face lit up in excitement. “And you can call the National Zoo, if you want, although I still don’t think that will be fruitful. We can go from there once we have more information.”

“Brilliant,” Fitz breathed, stepping quickly forward to wrap his hands around her arms and plant an enthusiastic kiss on her mouth. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she retorted cheekily, and leaned up for a sweeter, slower kiss, taking advantage of their rare moment of solitude at the busy clinic. “I wouldn’t agree if I didn’t love you quite so much.”

“I know,” he parroted, her gentle whack on his shoulder not diminishing the brightness of his smile. “And when we go to Borneo for the holidays next year –”

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma exclaimed, twisting away from him and towards the door as she figured out his true ulterior motive. “We’re not bringing home a monkey!”

“I’m just saying the extra experience in care wouldn’t hurt.” He traipsed cheerfully behind her, swiftly reaching out to grab the door handle before she could do so and gallantly holding it open for her. “After you, Dr. Simmons-Fitz.”

Sighing, Jemma shook her head as she strode past him into the main room. “You owe me a massage.” She paused before they got anywhere near their other employees, and waited for him to catch up before she spoke again. “A full body one. Feet, too.”

Fitz’s grin morphed from childish glee to something far more mischievous. “At your service.”


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 3 years of me writing FitzSimmons fanfic, I did a [giveaway on my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/160844997228/on-may-24-2014-about-a-week-and-a-half-after-the)! Ficlets will be posted here as I finish them.
> 
> mrsdecaestecker asked: Fs + “I am not the person you need in your life.” - “But I am the person who wants you in my life.”
> 
> Rated G. Future fic.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/161165288738/fs-i-am-not-the-person-you-need-in-your-life).

Fitz let out a heart-rending sigh and leaned his forehead against the glass, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have to go. I wish I didn’t, but I just… I’m not the person you need in your life.” Staring down at the familiar, beautiful brown eyes, he couldn’t quite pry himself away, even though time was running short. He raised his fingers to press against the glass, wishing there were a way for him to be on the other side, even if it was only for a few moments. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Fitz,” came Jemma’s voice from behind him, and he jumped, having almost forgotten that she was waiting. All around them, small children were streaming past in waves, the sounds of the zoo proceeding cheerfully around them although he’d felt briefly like he was in his own private world.

“She recognized me, Jemma,” he said, turning back to the capuchin that was staring curiously at him through the enclosure’s barriers. “I swear she did.”

“The zoo is about to close.” Sighing, she stepped up behind him and slid her fingers into his left hand. “The next time the team’s in San Diego, we can come back and visit.”

“I wish she could come with us,” he said sadly, allowing her to tug him a few steps back. “I bet she’d be great in the lab.”

“You’d have to clean up her poop.” Jemma took an enormous amount of satisfaction in the way his entire face morphed instantly into an expression of horror. When she pulled him after her this time, he went much more willingly.

“Alright,” he amended gruffly, glancing over his shoulder at where the zoo’s guard was giving him the stink-eye. “So I’m not the person she needs in her life, I said that already.”

“Fortunately for us all,” Jemma deadpanned, “I still want you in my life, even though you just practically proposed to a monkey right in front of me.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “Jemma, I’d never propose to her. Polygamy’s illegal in the UK.”

Bursting out in laughter, she half-tilted into him, half-shoved him, sending them both a few stumbled steps over on the zoo’s brick-lined path. Once they’d narrowly avoided crashing into a line of strollers, Fitz slowed their progress to a halt so that he could lean down and kiss Jemma, unsubtly running his thumb over the cool ridge of her wedding band where their hands were still entwined. She hummed happily in response, pushing up onto her tiptoes to fit their mouths better together.

“I wonder,” Fitz started, and Jemma groaned as she pulled him along towards the exit. “D’you think they’d let us into the enclosures if we said we’re SHIELD agents and it’s a matter of galactic security?”

She sighed. “Possibly. But wouldn’t you feel guilty lying about that?”

“Nah.” Fitz gave her a cheeky grin. “I figure it’s one of the only perks we get, y’know, other than being best friends with a superhero and occasional space trips. And full health insurance.”

“I’m sure Daisy would love being considered a job perk,” Jemma retorted drily.

“So next time we visit, we need to make sure to get to the lions, and monkeys, and –”

“Lizards, oh Fitz!” Jemma instinctively tried clapping her hands together in excitement, despite being hindered by Fitz’s hand where it was still wrapped tightly around hers. “We didn’t get to spend any time in the reptile house today, it’s such a shame. I’ve never seen a sheltopusiks in person before, and they have a mated pair of [shingleback skinks](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F7533850&t=NGQ0NzA2OWVhNTkzNmYzMjE2M2ExNGNiY2ZkZWE1ZjA3YzJiYTdhNixybXN0eGxJbA%3D%3D&b=t%3AkgUJ1EiH6Y6Yw42mlpnRxg&p=http%3A%2F%2Fagentverbivore.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F161165288738%2Ffs-i-am-not-the-person-you-need-in-your-life&m=0), which is very unusual because most zoos only collect one.”

Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Fitz chuckled. “Yeah, we can visit the slime house next time, promise.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “Lizards aren’t slimy, Fitz. Desert dwellers actually have to stay quite dry, otherwise they can get scale rot.”

As she continued to rattle off facts about lizards – eventually getting distracted by a genuinely interesting tangent on chameleons – Fitz smiled and held her hand even tighter. Even though he really did want a monkey rather badly, he knew that Jemma was much better company.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to [jewishfitz](https://tmblr.co/mPbhJf8rdxSeYDA6bNsy2Cg) for sending this! inspired by [buckysbears](https://tmblr.co/manApKBmvVUonGF3b9SBEgA)' [Chanukah headcanons/prompts](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/168199323523/dear-aos-fic-writers).
> 
> this is the first in a little trio of Chanukah ficlets (all in different universes) that I’m hoping to finish/post this week. Happy (day before the) Festival of Lights!
> 
> Rated G. Academy era [FitzSimmons](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/tagged/fsfic), at the end of their 1st semester. Simmons is Jewish.

Jemma jumped when she heard Fitz’s now-familiar three knocks on her dorm room door, nearly dropping the holiday card that she had been re-reading for the fifth time. Blowing out a puff of air, she returned the card to her desk, swiped at the moisture beneath her eyes, and patted her cheeks to bring some color back in them. It would not do for her to meet her newest (and only) friend at the Academy for a chemistry study session looking as if she’d just been crying (never mind that she had been).

When she swung open the door and gave him a cheerful greeting, however, his own neutral smile immediately faded into a frown of concern.

“Are you alright?”

An instinctive _yes, of course_ response died on her tongue, and she let her shoulders droop slightly. “It’s nothing,” she offered, voice quavering annoyingly and forcing her to bite down on her bottom lip as she turned away to collect her bag and books.

Behind her, she could hear Fitz take a couple of shuffling steps into her room, and the weighted door slowly swung shut behind him. “Is it exams? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’ve memorized the textbook by now, and we’ve got all night to study….”

Sighing, she straightened, instinctively hugging her bag to her stomach as if it were some kind of shield. “No, no, that’s not it. I, um… it’s a bit… I’ve been feeling a bit homesick, I suppose you could say. I picked up a parcel from my parents today, and, well….”

“Today?” The wrinkles in Fitz’s brow deepened in confusion. “Don’t you fly home on Monday?”

“Yes,” she said, shaking hair out of her eyes, “but tomorrow’s the first night of Chanukah.”

[[MORE]]

Fitz’s mouth rounded into an ‘o’ of surprise; she had never mentioned her religion to him before. “So they sent you presents early, then?”

“Yes, well – sort of.” Jemma returned her bag to the floor and then reached into the cardboard box on her bed, where she’d replaced everything right away so she could read the included card. “They sent me a menorah.” Her eyes watered slightly as she pulled it out and held it before Fitz.

When packing for the Academy, she had dismissed her mother’s suggestion that she bring the bronze menorah she’d been using since her grandmother had given it to her at thirteen. What was the point, she had argued, in taking up extra space in her suitcase when she would be celebrating most of the holiday at home anyway? Exams would keep her too busy to think about a silly little thing like Chanukah. But that afternoon, as she had unwrapped the new, silver menorah and traced the mosaic-patterned struts, Jemma found that she had plenty of time to miss the December tradition nearly as much as she missed her parents.

“It’s really nice,” Fitz said carefully, and she could tell that he still wasn’t quite following. “That’s a good present, though, right?”

“It is,” she agreed, and let out a small laugh as she placed the menorah in its proper place on her immaculately organized desk. “But I… oh, _see_ , I told you it was nothing. I can’t actually light the candles. We’re not allowed open flames in the dorms.”

He gave her a look that suggested she’d just said that the planet was flat. “But – I mean, okay, I dunno much about Jewish stuff, but the candles are important, right? Just do it anyway, no one’ll know.”

“Fitz!” she exclaimed, giving him a scandalized look. “That would be breaking the rules.”

“For something that’s important,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to be expelled!”

“You won’t be expelled,” he shot back, planting his hands backwards on his hips. “And it’s really important, right? To you. That’s why you were crying.”

“I wasn’t crying…” she started, but then trailed off, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll just have to wait until I get home on Monday.” Then, Jemma let out a noise of impatience and reached for her knapsack. “Honestly, we’re just wasting time. We need to get to the library.”

As she stalked past him and towards her door, Fitz muttered disapprovingly about how she was being ridiculous, but she ignored his protests. She had already gone through other potential solutions in her head (taking the menorah into the quad – and potentially getting questioned by campus security; going to the campus’ Jewish Student Union event – which was taking place entirely during their exam period) and rejected them all. Going over them with Fitz again would just be a waste of both their time.

A couple minutes later, once they were proceeding down the mid-quad pathway to the library, Fitz cleared his throat. “You never said you were Jewish before.”

Blinking, she arched an eyebrow in his direction. “So?”

He shrugged, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “I mean, seems important to you, so – would’ve thought you’d’ve mentioned it. I dunno.”

“You don’t talk about your religion.”

“Don’t have one.” He chuckled when she gave him a bemused glance. “Okay, I think my mum has a picture of me in my baptism outfit somewhere, but that’s about it. Never went to church or anything.”

Silence fell between them for a few moments, and she squeezed the edges of the book she had wrapped in her hands. “I suppose I don’t think about it very much. It only seems to matter around the holidays, you know?”

Fitz nodded sagely, kicking aside a branch that had fallen on the bricks before them. Then, in typical him fashion, he used that distraction as a springboard to talk about the exam for which they would be studying shortly, and Jemma happily fell into the change of topic. Opening up to her new friend had made her acutely shy in a way she did not typically feel around Fitz. Her family’s religion seemed rather intensely personal to her mind, and she felt somewhat daring to have shared it with him.

——

One and a quarter days of intensive studying and nerve-wracking exam-taking later, and Jemma felt lighter than she had in weeks. Both she and Fitz had one last exam on Sunday morning, but it would be a walk in the park compared to chemistry – everyone knew that Professor Vaughn’s tests were laughable.

Humming to herself as she strode cheerfully out of the class building into the night, she almost didn’t notice the door slam open behind her or the footsteps of trainers hurrying along the pathway to catch up. “Hey, Simmons!”

“Hi, Fitz,” she said, smiling as her friend drew even, his cheeks slightly pink in the evening’s cold. “I didn’t realize you were almost done or I would have waited.”

“S’okay.” Shrugging his knapsack onto both shoulders, he gave her a bashful grin. “Are you gonna do Chanukah now? It’s tonight, right?”

She let out a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “I – okay, we don’t ‘do’ Chanukah, exactly, but, yeah, I was going to go say the prayer over the menorah.” Wrinkling her nose, she couldn’t help but let out a little sigh of disappointment. “It will be a bit weird without lighting the candles, really, but – it’s okay.”

“Can I –” Fitz cut himself off and swallowed, shoulders rolling slightly in. “I mean, I don’t wanna – if you – but could I… come with you? If it’s okay? I have something I wanna show you, but I don’t wanna, y’know, interrupt anything, or –”

“That would be great, Fitz,” she said warmly, giving his arm an affectionate nudge with her own. “I’d love the company.” It was impossible for her not to notice how he straightened at her invitation, or the slight spring in his step as they proceeded to her dorm room.

Once they had arrived and her door had swung slowly shut of its own accord, she set about clearing things away so that the menorah, the _shamash_ , and the first night’s candle were prominently on display in the center of her desk.

After watching her for a few moments, shifting from foot to foot, Fitz drew her attention back to himself by clearing his throat. “Erm, I know you don’t wanna light the candles –”

“It’s against the rules,” she reminded him, and he rolled his eyes.

“I still think that if it’s important enough, it’d be fine, but _anyway_ ,” he continued, preempting her before she could begin to lecture him about why following the rules was an important part of their SHIELD careers. “I sorta had an idea last night, so I tried making something, and if you don’t mind, I can show you, but if you don’t like it, I promise I’ll take it away and I won’t bring it up again.” Giving him an intrigued eyebrow raise, Jemma nodded her assent. “Um, is it okay if I – can I touch – the, uhm, menorah? Is that allowed?”

She couldn’t help but laugh a little, even if she appreciated his question. “It’s not a yad, Fitz, anyone can touch a menorah.” He squinted back at her, and she spoke quickly before he could ask. “The yad is used to turn the pages of the Torah.”

“Oh! Right, cool. Um, so I can…?” Fitz shifted forward a few steps, holding his hands out towards the desk until she nodded again, and he returned to a normal pace.

While she watched, he gently removed the candles, placing them at a safe distance away on the desk, and then reached into his knapsack to retrieve what looked like a massive tangle of wires. She was just able to make out what seemed to be small Christmas lights within the bundle, but then Fitz stepped up to the desk and obscured her view. For a few minutes, he worked quietly and efficiently, the sight quite familiar to her from their many afternoons together in chemistry lab. Finally, he crouched beneath her desk with a plug in his hand, giving her a view of what he had created: Most of the tangle was hidden behind the menorah, with little bulbs nestled into the candleholders.

“It’s rough, ‘cause I didn’t have time to get supplies from the department, so if you like it I can make you something proper for next year, but I’ve tested it and it works. I’m just lucky I hadn’t returned the lights yet.” With a hesitant uptick of the corners of his mouth, he stepped back over and handed her a small switch, connected to the contraption by a thin wire. “I can make it wireless, too, with more time. So, the middle one is the main candle, right?”

“The shamash,” she said, “yes.”

“Yeah, so you turn the switch and that one goes on first, and then each candle in order. If you wind it back, it turns off. So you can just turn it however for you want for each day.” Having finished his explanation, he glanced nervously between the menorah and her face. “Is that okay? I just thought – it’d be better if you could use your own menorah. The one your parents got you. Even if you don’t wanna use candles –”

Stopping his words short, Jemma darted forward to wrap her arms tightly around his torso, squeezing her eyes shut to try to keep her oddly volatile feelings about this silly little menorah in check. “Thank you, Fitz,” she mumbled against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. 

Although he didn’t move for a few, long seconds, eventually he hesitantly returned her hug, resting one arm over her shoulders and patting her back with the other hand. “S’alright,” he muttered.

A part of her wanted to press him for when he’d found the time to make the contraption, considering that they’d barely been apart for the eight hours during which they had both been theoretically sleeping. But something told her not to embarrass him further, and she convinced herself to take the gesture for what it was: a kindness from the boy who was rapidly becoming her best friend. It was in moments like this that she nearly forgot they had been sworn rivals for the first two and a half months of the semester.

Jemma held on for a little longer, waiting until she was quite sure she wouldn’t start crying, and then pulled away with a bright smile. Taking the remote, she took a second to turn off the overhead light before inhaling and then twisting the gadget’s switch one notch. The shamash bulb faded into life before them, flickering in an apt imitation of a real flame.

“ _Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam,_ ” Jemma recited, _“asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Chanukah_.” As she spoke, she turned the switch once more, until the first of the other eight bulbs winked into life.

Slivers of light bounced against the white-washed, cinderblock dorm walls, and a new feeling settled into her chest – something that seemed to tell her that the Academy was exactly where she belonged, right by her thoughtful new friend’s side.

“Happy Chanukah, Simmons,” Fitz said, and she grinned, giving his arm a friendly nudge.

“Happy Chanukah, Fitz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr post.](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/168442192780/hi-super-duper-happy-to-see-that-youre-taking)


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to [theclaravoyant](http://theclaravoyant.tumblr.com/) for sending this! inspired by [buckysbears](https://tmblr.co/manApKBmvVUonGF3b9SBEgA)' [Chanukah headcanons/prompts](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/168199323523/dear-aos-fic-writers).
> 
> this is the second of my Chanukah ficlet trio. (the 3rd won’t come out for another few days, since I haven’t started writing it yet.) Happy Festival of Lights!
> 
> Rated G. Canon-compliant Academy era [FitzSimmons](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/tagged/fsfic), followed by a scene in the future. CW for mentions of Fitz’s father.

Although Jemma knew that Fitz didn’t like heavily populated social gatherings at the best of times, it continued to flummox her as to exactly why. Furthermore, he was even grumpier about them around Jewish holidays so far as she could tell, even though he professed to enjoy their traditions. How he could like the traditions but not the celebration confused her even further.

It was the end of their third semester at the Academy, and she was mulling this contradiction in her best friend over during their second Chanukah celebration at the Jewish Student Union. Watching him scowl as one of the party’s organizers handed him a yarmulke had renewed her curiosity about the matter. For her part, Jemma was in high spirits – they had another two weeks before the Academy closed for winter break (dictated as it was by the Christian holidays), which meant that she could enjoy tonight’s festivities without feeling guilty about wasting time that should otherwise be spent studying.

Once Fitz had the yarmulke settled on his head, she nudged him about his grumpiness and he gave her a weak smile. As the evening went on, they were both distracted by food and games and the other customary activities associated with Chanukah parties worldwide. But when they went to put on their coats before leaving, Jemma noticed Fitz drop his yarmulke into the provided basket as if the small piece of cloth had burned him. Letting out a low huff as she followed him out through the door, she decided that she was going to settle once and for all why Fitz became a  _Yehudi_  Grinch at every JSU event.

“Fitz,” she said determinedly, hopping up alongside him on the path through the quad. With the winter chill in the air, most students were inside at this time of night, providing them a more-or-less private walk in the direction of the freshman dorms. “Why don’t you like going to JSU?”

He gave her a funny look, digging his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “What? I like JSU.”

“No, you don’t,” she retorted.  

“I wouldn’t go if I  _didn’t_  like it,” he argued, elbowing her in lieu of waving his hands in indignation. “I mean, their Chanukah party last year’s one of the first things we hung out at, other than chem lab. Went on my own.”

“Then why do you act like that every time we go to one?”

“Act like  _what_?” Jemma scrunched her face into an exaggerated but apt impression of Fitz’s frown, and he made a noise of disgust. “I don’t look like that!”

“You  _do_ , every time we walk through the door!” A flash of understanding passed over his face, and he turned so that he was facing forward on the path as they walked. “What?”

“No, nothing,” he said too quickly, and she let out a frustrated groan.

“Fitz, come on,” she tried again, tugging hesitantly at the edge of his coat sleeve. “What  _is_  it?”

He let out a low huff, a cloud of air billowing out of his mouth in the night’s chill, and for a few seconds, Jemma thought he was just going to flat-out ignore her. But, at long last, he muttered an answer, dropping his gaze to the concrete beneath their respective trainers: “I don’t like yarmulkes.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose in skepticism. “Yarmulkes? Seriously?”

“Don’t like the way they look on me.”

Making a sharp noise of disagreement, she had to speed up to hold her friend’s stride. “You look fine in it, honestly. You’re being silly.”

Silence, again, stretched on between them, and she tried to think of what other questions with which she could pepper him to get at the truth of the matter. Instinct told her that there was something more to it. Before she could approach the subject from a different angle, however, Fitz spoke unprompted.

“My dad used to – said I looked like a clown in it. Half-pint clown, to be specific.” His voice was low and he was staring determinedly at his feet as they strode side by side, and suddenly Jemma felt wretched for having pressed him. Although her friend rarely spoke of the father who had left him when he was but ten years old, with every brief mention she hated the man a little more.

“That’s awful,” she whispered, tugging at the pocket of her purple peacoat. “Was… I mean, is he…?”

“Jewish?” He let out a low laugh. “Yeah. He’d be wearing a yarmulke, too. Didn’t stop him from insulting everyone he saw with one.”

Inhaling, she gave her head a slow shake. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” Fitz shrugged, squinting up at the streetlamp beneath which they were passing. “So I don’t like yarmulkes. Mum stopped making me wear one when we celebrated at home, wish I didn’t have to here.”

Jemma pursed her lips, nibbling at the bottom one in thought. Although it was Fitz’s choice whether or not to wear a yarmulke, by and large, she did rather think it appropriate that he wore one when observing the more important Jewish holidays. Her own mildly agnostic feelings about religious beliefs aside, it just seemed proper to do so. Truly, Chanukah was not an important enough of a holiday for it to matter, she supposed, but on Rosh Hashanah it would feel rather disrespectful for him not to wear a yarmulke. These musings, however, she kept to herself, as her own relationship to her religion as a scientist was something she was still developing and cultivating.

“I think you look nice in a yarmulke,” she said quietly, sliding her eyes over to glance at him. “It fits nicely on your well-formed cranium.” Fitz burst out laughing, and she tried not to look affronted. “What? I mean it!”

“Thanks, Simmons,” he chortled, dodging when she tried to elbow him in the side in retaliation. “And a happy Chanukah to you, too.”

——

Jemma bounded through the front door, a padded manila envelope in one hand and a wide smile on her face. The whole apartment practically shone as she re-entered it from having checked their mail, having just finished hiding the last of the moving boxes in their bedroom. Tonight would be one part house-warming party and two parts Chanukah celebration, and between the two of them, she and Fitz had done an ample job of getting it ready in time. She had finished getting dressed for the party earlier than he, and had decided to make one last, fortuitously fruitful, run to the mailbox. With a new green and white patterned sweater and sea star necklace in place, Jemma felt both pretty and festive, and was very excited to welcome their friends into their new home. All she had left to do was finish the cookie and rugelach display – and deliver the mail she had just collected.

“Fitz!” she called out, locking the door behind her and heading towards the front hall closet. “The package from your mum finally arrived!” Instead of the enthusiasm she had expected, all she heard in response was muffled swearing coming from the general direction of their bedroom. Pausing with one hand a few inches away from the closet’s door handle, she wrinkled her nose. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he barked, which was followed by an indistinct noise of triumph.

Giving her head an amused shake, Jemma continued her current task of fetching a screwdriver from the toolbox they had a few hours prior agreed to store beneath their hanging winter coats. About a minute or so later, her husband finally emerged from their bedroom, dropping his hand from where he had been affixing a yarmulke to his hair.

“Is that it?” Fitz asked needlessly, eyes lighting excitedly upon the manila envelope that she still held. Not quite waiting for her nod, he took it, quickly ripping the paper open and reaching for the wrapped package and note inside. “Came on the perfect night,” he said, giving her a grin as she closed up the closet and followed him to the dining room table.

“And not a day too soon,” she agreed, watching his eyes skim over his mother’s handwriting. “The thirty days are up next week.”

She noticed that his smile had softened, and reached for the card when he handed it to her. “It’s for you.”

Before she could actually read anything, Fitz slipped up along her side to wrap his arms sideways around her waist. Jemma tilted her head up to meet his gaze, and happily accepted the gentle kiss he pressed to her lips. A pleased hum slipped out of her as she pulled away, and she let him nuzzle against her cheek as she dropped her gaze to read, even with his now familiar scruff tickling slightly at her skin.  

There was a note to Fitz at the top of the card – decorated on the front with a miniature, watercolor menorah – and then a second note beneath:

_Jemma – May the light and love of the house you build with my son be as bright and warm as what shines from within you. This mezuzah brings the blessings you both deserve, and may it long serve as a remembrance of the love I hold for you. Chag Urim Sameach!_

“We need to call her tomorrow,” she murmured, dabbing at her eyes with her free hand.

“Yeah, before work.” Fitz held out the small package that he had finished unwrapping as she read: An intricately carved, metal cylinder, flat on one side and about four inches in length. “Should have time to put it up before everyone arrives, too.”

“I thought so,” she said, craning her head back to smile up at him. Without thinking, she reached up to trace alongside the edge of the yarmulke, her fingers feathering through the short curls that puffed up around it.

“What?” Discomfort flashed across his expression, and she turned so that they were hugging each other from a more direct angle, allowing her fingers to trail down over his scruffy cheek.

“I’m glad you’re wearing it,” she said quietly, trying to imbue her expression and voice with the happiness and affection she felt for him. “The yarmulke.”

“Oh.” He shrugged self-consciously, tightening his grip around her waist. “Yeah, y’know, thought it’d right. First Chanukah party in the apartment and all.”

“You look perfect.” Jemma stretched up for another kiss, giggling slightly when he tried to deepen it.

“That’s just rude,” he grumbled, and she gave his cheek a quick peck before disentangling herself from his embrace. “We’ve talked about laughing when I kiss you before –”

“They’ll be here at any second.” She pointed to the screwdriver she had taken out for him, and he reached for it. “And I have to finish putting out the desserts.”

When Fitz opened the door, they were both greeted by the distinct sound of someone’s singing echoing down the long hallway towards their corner apartment. Jemma could just barely make out the words [“ _dreidel, dreidel, dreidel_ ” to the tune of a Justin Bieber song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvY337zKttA) before her husband burst out laughing.

“I think that’s the sound of Daisy and Trip arriving,” Fitz chuckled, reaching over to put the mezuzah and screwdriver on the entryway table. “We can do this later.”

“Agreed,” she answered, reaching for the dessert plates.

As Jemma watched Fitz greet their friends, yarmulke worn proudly on his head, she was struck by a sudden sense of pride, both in him and in the life that they were about to embark upon together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/168474641608/channukah-prompts-i-would-love-to-see-homesick).


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to [unlessimwrongwhichyouknowimnot](http://unlessimwrongwhichyouknowimnot.tumblr.com/) for sending this! inspired by [buckysbears](https://tmblr.co/manApKBmvVUonGF3b9SBEgA)' [Chanukah headcanons/prompts](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/168199323523/dear-aos-fic-writers) and the second half of [theclaravoyant](http://theclaravoyant.tumblr.com/)'s [prompt](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/168474641608/channukah-prompts-i-would-love-to-see-homesick).
> 
> this is the third of my Chanukah ficlet trio. Happy (end of the) Festival of Lights!
> 
> Rated G. Canon-compliant Academy era [FitzSimmons](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/tagged/fsfic), with a Jewish Fitz and atheist Simmons.

Head in hands, Fitz stared at his third year holographic engineering textbook and tried to convince the letters to stop swimming on the page in front of him. The final exam was in exactly seventy-six hours, but after introductory xenorganic chemistry, propulsion engineering, and his “SHIELD in Literature” elective, he was starting to feel like a wrung-out sponge. It didn’t help that the exam was scheduled for the absolute last slot in the week, which meant that half the campus was in a festive mood and he was absolutely _itching_ to be able to join them. (From an acceptable distance, anyway.) With all the best of intentions, he had sequestered himself in one of his favorite private study rooms right after dinner. Four hours later, however, and he felt like he actually remembered the salient parts of the class _less_ than he had before. Only having nine-tenths of the textbook memorized was really not up to par.

Just as he was giving serious consideration to dropping his face directly onto the book and taking a nice multi-hour nap, the door banged open and he nearly fell out of his chair.

“Fitz!” Simmons chirped as she plopped into the seat in front of him. “I have a question for you.” 

“Bragg diffraction won the Nobel in 1915, seven years after Lippmann,” he managed to get out through a jaw-cracking yawn. 

“As refined as your powers of telepathy are becoming,” she deadpanned, neatly dodging the slow kick he aimed at her red Cons beneath the table, “that’s not what I had in mind.” 

“I was right, though, yeah?” 

Her smile widened ever-so-slightly. “Yeah. And what crystals did they use to conduct the experiment?”

“Rock salt,” he replied promptly, sitting back in his chair. “And you’re late.” 

“I ran into Professor Niehaus outside of Carter and had the most fascinating discussion about the reading for next semester. She thought you had some good points about the fall assignments, so she’s thinking about adjusting her syllabus.” 

Fitz blinked at her. “ _I_ had some good points?” 

“Yes. I told her what you said over spagbol at Mario’s a couple weeks ago.” The self-assuredness on her face made him want to give his head a cartoon-dog-esque shake. 

“Okay, right, sure, ‘cause why wouldn’t you.” Taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a laugh, he waved one hand at her. “Alright, so, what question’d you wanna ask?” 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, reaching into the purple knapsack she had placed neatly on the empty seat next to her. “I wanted to know the precise purpose of dreidel.” Simmons primly placed a lime green, plastic dreidel on the table almost perfectly between the two of them. 

He squinted across the table at his best friend. “Dreidel?”

“Dreidel,” she repeated, straightening the top so that it lay parallel to the table’s edge. “The game, not the object.”

A thought occurred to him, and he arched an eyebrow. “Did you steal this from my room?”

The Academy’s Jewish Student Union chapter had held their annual Chanukah celebration the weekend before, aiming to catch students right before most exams began, and this year the party favors had included cheap plastic dreidels. Although Fitz had pretty much only shown up to grab latkes and rugelach and leave, he had swiped a couple of the trinkets to keep on his desk for fiddling with while he studied. 

Simmons fought back something that resembled a sheepish smile. “Borrowed, with every intention of returning.”

Scratching at the back of his head, he tried unsuccessfully to figure out what had prompted the question, and why she had asked it now. “Why? It’s not Chanukah yet, doesn’t even start ‘til Christmas day this year.” 

“I’m curious.” She continued to stare expectantly at him, and he let out a mildly annoyed huff. 

Ever since having discovered that he was Jewish their first year, self-avowed atheist Simmons had taken it upon herself to pepper him with all manner of questions about his religion, only half of which he could answer on the best of days. Being mostly secular in observance himself, he found himself surreptitiously looking things up on the computer just as often as he had a response off the top of his head. One time, she spent forty-five minutes grilling him on the minutest details of his bar mitzvah, and he had ended up needing to email his mum questions when he couldn't remember everything.

During the pause in which he was deciding how to reply, Simmons waited briefly and then continued: “And you’re the only Jewish person I know.”

Feeling abruptly tired and cranky, Fitz crossed his arms over his chest. “I dunno the purpose of dreidel, Simmons, it’s a kids’ game. Why don’t you just look it up instead of asking me?”

Anyone who didn’t know his best friend as well as he would have missed the wince that flashed briefly across her face at his words. Her shoulders sunk slightly, and she withdrew her hands to her lap. “Oh. I....” 

“I mean,” he continued, feeling an odd need to defend his impulsive response, “you do this all the time with Jewish stuff. You’re an atheist, why d’you even care?”

Looking down at her lap, she took in a small breath. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I mean, you care about it. I thought that... that was what friends do. Be interested in things their friends are interested in. Or, I mean, that’s important to them.” Simmons tucked hair behind her ear and reached over to rifle through her bag. “Never mind. Sorry, we really should be studying.”

Discontent twisted into his stomach, and he scrunched his face up as he resisted the urge to just pretend like nothing had happened. “No, I’m – sorry, Simmons, sorry. I’m just knackered, you took me by surprise.” 

“No, really,” she interrupted, piling textbooks on the table in front of herself. “I don’t want to bother you about your religion, it’s not –”

“It’s not bothering me,” he spoke over her, prompting her to actually look up and meet his gaze. “I just – I mean, I don’t like not knowing the answer.” He let out a sheepish laugh, flicking one finger at the pages of his book. “Dreidel isn’t significant or anything. It’s just a game. Think my mum said something once about how it’s adapted from some other European tradition, kinda like how Christians took bits and pieces from the Romans to make Christmas popular. But I don’t even remember what that was, so....” Fitz shrugged. “I just like the gelt and winning.” 

Simmons was watching him with renewed interest now, an expression he recognized all too well from their first day of class every semester. “What’s gelt?”

“Those gold chocolate coins. Some parties use candy, too, but I like the chocolate.” 

“Is it easy to win?” 

Fitz chuckled, and reached out to pluck the green dreidel from the table. “Takes a lotta practice.” With that, he gave the dreidel a rapid flick onto the table, watching as it predictably flipped and spun into a standing position, making minute circles around the table.

Eyes glued to the long-spinning top, Simmons made a skeptical hum. “That doesn’t _seem_ difficult.” 

“Wanna try it, then?” He glanced down at the gold watch on his wrist. “What about we study for another hour, and then take a break to play dreidel. I can teach you. Winner brings the other tea before the exam.” 

His best friend lit up at the promise of a competition, and she sat straighter in her chair. “Okay. Oh, but – we don’t have any gelt.”

Frowning, Fitz swiped up the dreidel just before it could stutter and jump to a stop. “We could use....” He spent a few seconds rifling through his bag. “I have peanut, crispy, and regular M&Ms. What d’you prefer?” 

“Peanut,” she replied, watching as he laid out the three unopened bags of candy next to his work supplies. “How much candy do you _have_ in there?” 

“Gotta keep the blood sugar up, Simmons,” he retorted, pulling the nearly forgotten textbook towards himself. “Important for keeping the brain working at optimal capacity.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I think just one bag would have sufficed, but – anyway. Good idea, Fitz. Incentivization is an excellent study methodology.” 

Grinning, he ducked his head, both of them settling in to be productive for exactly the following 59 minutes and 35 seconds. Fitz felt rather guilty now for having snapped at Simmons so unnecessarily, but he thought that her eager return to curiosity signaled that she wasn’t upset by his unwarranted response. Even though it didn’t make much sense, he had always been a little guarded about her questions regarding Jewish traditions, feeling that perhaps her atheism would lead to an argument between them. (An argument of a more serious nature, anyway, than the bickering that made up half of their conversations.) Yet, after about two years of friendship, the topic had only yielded them opening up about their families and traditions, and he supposed that was actually a good thing, in retrospect. In truth, Fitz found the explanation Simmons had given for her curiosity rather touching – even if he would never, ever admit it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/168751661633/jewish-fs-prompt-academy-era-jewish-fitz-teaches).


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, @cardb0rdeaux! you get two secret santa presents for the price of one! 
> 
> when @eclecticmuses first started mulling mistletoe fluff, I suggested that Jemma hold it while Fitz be concealing a ring box, aaaaaand then I freaked out ‘cause the idea was too cute and I desperately wanted to write it. because of reasons. and fluff. so this happened, albeit a lot more down to the wire than I would’ve liked. 
> 
> (unbetaed, many apologies. I will likely come back and tinker with it again later in the week.)
> 
> plus, I got to write it all while admiring  **[her amazingbeautifulstupendousadorable art](http://eclecticmuses.tumblr.com/post/169157702221)**! I hope you enjoy this little addition to your gift as much as I’m sure you are already loving her work!
> 
> Rated G. Season 5 future fic, canon-complaint (for the moment) FitzSimmons.
> 
> [Tumblr Post](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/169157663988/a-complex-proposal).

Out of all the genuinely traumatic and horrifying events that Fitz had undergone in his relatively short lifetime, his experience of the past month and four days was set to be one of the most harrowing. In that period of time, he and Jemma had moved into the DC apartment secured for them by Daisy, re-settled into their respective science division roles at SHIELD (her as the director with him as deputy), and hosted both a house-warming and a holiday party within one week of each other. Yet, none of the tasks associated with any of the above were what kept him lying awake in bed late at night or had him consumed by panic sweat at odd moments throughout the day.

Moving, although generally aggravating, was not what had him so stressed. In fact, neither of them had had much to move into the apartment in any case. With so many sudden shifts in SHIELD’s status over recent years – from the Bus to the Playground to space – their belongings were sparse, consisting only of what Fury had managed to squirrel away from the military’s clutches (and what little had survived one catastrophe after the next). Eventually, Jemma’s parents and Fitz’s mum had sent them a few things at their respective requests, but on that first day in the apartment, the rooms had looked quite spare.

In her near-infinite enthusiasm for home making, his best friend just chirped that they would fill it up soon enough and then gave him a quick peck on the lips before bouncing off to inspect the bay windows. Feeling a distinct mix of nerves and excitement and blind terror, Fitz wondered if now was the moment – if the blank slate of their new home was the right setting to dig into the bottom corner of his knapsack for a distinct, red velvet box. But when Jemma turned back to him with an argument about TV screen sizes, the idea flew right out of his head. Another day, he promised himself. The right day. Soon.

It was bloody hard to figure out what the “right day” was, however, much to Fitz’s chagrin. 

Should he sneak home early one night and set up the apartment with candles and wine and make sure she was walking into a fairytale? Should he place the box next to her tea one morning and wait to see her sleepy confusion morph into understanding? Should he surprise her in bed with breakfast? With a pastry in her office? With a painstakingly crafted speech that encompassed his every feeling for her and the plea that she allow him to be by her side for the rest of their lives?

Fitz had, actually, tried to write the latter half a dozen times when he thought he could hide the drafts from her. No matter how hard he tried, nothing ever sounded right. Reminding himself that it had taken a good three months before he had managed to concoct the opening salvo to their friendship back at the Academy, while he had only  _really_  been trying to write his proposal for a little over a month, did nothing to make him feel better. He started waking up in a cold sweat with half-baked declarations of adoration flashing into and out of his head.

More than once, Jemma had awoken along with him and immediately sought to soothe what she thought were nightmares. Sometimes, he did awake from nightmares about his trauma, but recently his dreams had mostly consisted of her saying no or simply disappearing in front of his eyes. With the cold tip of her nose nudging the scruff beneath his chin and voice murmuring sleepily that everything would be okay, that she would always be there for him, he had almost blurted the question right out into the quiet morning air a few times. But without the ring in hand – or easily retrievable from their bed – the words had always faded before they even got to his throat. And then he’d usually spent the rest of the day feeling like a zombie, his nerves about the whole operation wearing him down twice as fast as he would normally.

The ordeal of proposing in just the right way was starting to give Fitz a complex.

Somehow, he felt it was fitting that the proposal ultimately happened in a way that had absolutely, completely nothing to do with any of his plans at all.

In the last hour prior to when the guests were supposed to start arriving for their holiday party, he and Jemma were companionably setting up decorations before both adjourning to the kitchen for their respective food tasks. (Fitz was in charge of cookies while she was in charge of the savory snacks.) As he stepped back to inspect the tree lights he had just plugged in, his hand drifted to his front jeans pocket, where he’d shoved a screwdriver and his mobile to mask the small, square box that he’d slipped out of his sock drawer once Jemma had left their bedroom. For a brief, mad moment, he wondered if now was the right time – before their friends joined them to celebrate the holiday season, while the two of them were already in the midst of such pleasantly domestic activities.

Then he caught sight of Jemma pulling additional garlands and vegetation out of the bags of decorations she had brought home earlier, and the thought flitted out of his head again.

“What’s that?” he said, nodding in her direction as he reached for an unopened carton of ornaments. Before next Christmas, he planned on seeing if Jemma would want to go through his mum’s collection of baubles and trinkets to augment their tree’s decorations, but for the moment, they had a few new sets that they’d agreed upon together – courtesy of the local Target’s finest options. (The idea for sifting through his childhood ornaments had occurred to him because he hoped that they would be visiting his home before the next holiday season for entirely different reasons, but he also knew that he was getting ahead of himself. First, he had to ask – and then, if he was very lucky, she would say yes. After that, he could start planning trips to see his mum.)

“Pine garlands and mistletoe,” Jemma answered, pushing herself to her feet and dangling twin sprigs of the thin-leafed, white-blossomed plant from both hands. “I thought it might be funny to put them in the archways, you know, to see who notices. And to get back at Daisy for taping it all over the Bus that year.”

Something strangely sharp and sour darted through Fitz’s stomach, and he frowned, fiddling with the small plastic bag of provided hooks. “Oh. You don’t – I dunno. Think mistletoe’s sort of... I mean, it doesn’t – give a choice, or....” Fitz faded out, cheeks burning for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, and then gave his head a sharp shake. “Never mind, ignore me,” he mumbled, ducking his head to pick out all the red glass bulbs from the box. “Dunno what I’m thinking.”

Silence hung between them for a few moments, interrupted only by the tasteful Christmas music Jemma had put on their new stereo system playing quietly in the background. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Jemma moving, and then she was wrapping her arms around his middle from behind.

“You don’t want me to hang the mistletoe,” she said quietly, squeezing tighter when he sucked in an oddly shuddery breath. “You can say that, Fitz.”

“Okay.” He gave her hand a squeeze where it rested over his stomach. “Yeah, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Not a problem,” she responded, and then planted a kiss against the back of his neck before returning to the garland. “I can use it to decorate the mantle instead.”

Once Jemma was across the room and neatly tucking the mistletoe within the pine needles and colorful ribbons, Fitz stood watching her for a few seconds too long. There was so much he wanted to say to her, to make her understand how purely happy tiny moments just like that one made him, and for a second time that evening, he almost reached into his pocket to take out the ring box. But then Jemma got a text from Daisy that caused her to burst into giggles, and his all-consuming to-do item was yet again pushed to the back of his mind.

Many hours later, after the guests had come and gone and Fitz and Jemma had cleaned up everything from the party – other than the last six-pack of her favorite beer – his mind once again drifted to the box in his pocket. It was beginning to seem, he thought vaguely, like he was waiting too long yet again to do something so important. Behind him, she cleared her throat to get his attention, and he whipped his hand away from his trousers and tried his best to look nonchalant as he turned around.

Standing a few steps away from the mantle, Jemma was holding a sprig of mistletoe over her head. The expression on her face was a mix between teasing and bashfulness, and he gave his head a questioning tilt.

“I’m standing under the mistletoe,” she said, somewhat needlessly. “And you’re not. So if you – wanted to take advantage of the tradition, you could. But you don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

Warmth spread through Fitz’s chest as a smile teased at his lips, and her mouth widened into a proper grin. Moments when she reaffirmed that his freedom to make choices was as important to her as it was to him only made his love for her grow, and in that second he felt like his human body couldn’t possibly contain the feeling. Not wanting this to become another one of the many serious conversations they had had together in the past few months, though, he sidled closer to her, his arm brushing against the tree and causing the ornaments to jingle slightly.

He glanced between her face and the small plant. “Y’know,” he said slowly, “not sure I can actually get myself underneath that. Bit low.”

Jemma made a faux-annoyed tsk and rolled her eyes. Stretching her arm up as high as it would go without needing her to get up onto her tiptoes, she waved the plant a bit, fighting back a smile all the while. “Better?”

Fitz stepped right up against her, looking up at the mistletoe where she held it. “Not a lot of wiggle room, but I s’pose it’ll have to do.”

“Ugh,  _Fitz_ ,” she groaned, but before she could admonish him further, he pressed their lips together. With a small laugh, she sighed against his mouth, resting one hand on his chest and leaning into him.

Something about kissing Jemma allowed Fitz to let go of all his tension and worries in a way that nothing else ever did. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t even second-guess himself as he reached into his trousers pocket to retrieve the velvet box. Their mouths moved together in a languid, heated way, and she hummed just before slipping her tongue between his lips. He paused for a few seconds, wrapping the box in his hand and holding it behind his back as he stepped further into her space. The thought of the expression his sixteen-year-old self would be wearing if he could see himself now nearly caused him to laugh; there had been few things he would have been  _less_ interested in at the Academy than kissing  _Jemma Simmons_ , let alone proposing to her.

When Jemma finally pulled back for air, leaning forward with a smile pulling at her lips and lowering her arm, Fitz raised the hand that held the box at the same time that she opened her eyes. Her gazed fixed immediately on the square of red velvet, and she sucked in a breath. The mistletoe dropped from her fingers to bounce once, twice on the wooden floor at their feet.

“Yes.”

Fitz halted with his mouth half open. “What?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she said on a breathless laugh, curling the fingers of both hands into his green cardigan. “You can keep going, but it’s going to be a yes.” Jemma’s eyes sparkled with the tree lights behind him, and she reached up to trail her fingers along his cheek. Just as he swallowed and got ready to speak again, she continued, words rushed as if she couldn’t stop herself. “Because I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. Because I’ve been waiting way too long to start the rest of my life with you.”

“ _Jemma_ ,” he let out in something between an admonishment and a chuckle. “I’ve spent  _weeks_  trying to figure out how to propose, and you’ve gone and done it for me!”

“Sorry,” she murmured, grinning as if she weren’t sorry at all. “Again.”

Grumbling, Fitz sunk onto one knee with only a little wobbling. He opened the ring box, held it up, took a deep breath, and... could not for the life of him think of anything to say that was better than what she had just said. Jemma was practically vibrating with excitement in front of him, her eyes beginning to shine with tears of joy, and he sighed into an affectionate smile.

“Jemma Simmons,” he started, angling the box up so that the one-carat diamond shone a little better in the room’s lighting. “When we first met, I thought that we’d get on, but I had no idea how well. I’ve never been as happy as I am when we’re together. And I hope I make you happy –”

“You do,  _so_  happy,” she interrupted, hands reaching halfway towards him before she caught herself and then tangled her fingers together in front of herself. He arched an eyebrow and she ducked her head. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Jemma, please.” He let out a low laugh and plucked the ring from the box. Giving himself a few seconds to think, he gently took her left hand and slid the simple white gold band onto her ring finger. To his relief, it fit perfectly – his surreptitious midnight ring sizing a few weeks back had been a success. “I don’t have any right to be this happy, or this lucky –”

“ _Fitz_!” she exclaimed, but he plowed on over her objection.

“But, Jemma, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she blurted, immediately tugging at his cardigan to get him back on his feet. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Leo Fitz.”

And then she was kissing him, and Fitz nearly tripped over the blasted ring box as he tried to find purchase on the floor, and he was so blissfully excited and relieved that he felt mildly faint. Before he could really process what was happening, she broke away from his lips to press kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead – everywhere on his face that she could reach – and he started to laugh. The last time she had done this, he had been convinced that he was about to die. Now, they were getting ready to spend an entire lifetime together. He wasn’t sure whether it was irony or symmetry, but either way, he cheerfully basked in her attentions.

Finally, Fitz had proposed and Jemma had said yes. Anything else good that happened for the rest of the year was merely one more ornament on an already full Christmas tree.


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another one of my quite old ficlets that, at one point in time, I had thought I would eventually turn into a full fic. I think that's unlikely to happen for this one now, so I just wanted to save it on AO3 with the rest. enjoy! :-)
> 
> Rated a hard **T**. Bodyguard AU.
> 
> [AU gifset this was based on](https://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/109921598495/fitzsimmons-bodyguard-au-three-years-ago-leo-fitz).  {NSFW}  
> [Tumblr post](https://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/123419014228/for-the-drabble-meme-fitzsimmons-22).

Fitz knew that he was behaving poorly tonight - particularly so - but sometimes it was hard to keep his distance when Dr. Simmons looked like that. Her hair was swept back into a graceful bun, a few intentional tendrils left loose to frame her face, which left her neck appealingly bare to his gaze. As it was, he found her barely resistible on normal days, when she wore ordinary clothes and a lab coat. Tonight’s gala was black tie, so her gown was formal, glittery, and clung to her curves in a way that really shouldn’t be allowed for Nobel Laureates. To put it mildly, Jemma Simmons was too beautiful and too smart by half, and she was unintentionally driving Fitz insane.

He had been assigned to her protection detail for over six months now, ever since she’d engaged SHIELD Security’s services when the terrorist organization Hydra began sending her death threats. Apparently, being a Nobel Laureate wasn’t all fancy banquets and public accolades. Although Fitz’s role was usually limited to operating SHEILD’s advanced observation and defense equipment, Trip had reported after their first couple of weeks that Dr. Simmons relaxed significantly when Fitz was around, and Coulson - their supervisor - quickly arranged for Fitz to be part of their esteemed client’s personal detail. (This was a source of unspoken pride for him, particularly because he didn’t think he had done anything special to put her at ease. He just talked to her like she was a human being - one with whom he had a surprisingly large amount in common - and she eagerly responded. Some days, he almost thought she seemed to look forward to seeing him.) As such, on nights like this one, he was stuffed into his own monkey suit, under which he wore a Kevlar vest and had at least four concealed weapons, in addition to a tablet that controlled their surveillance drones.

Fortunately, the gala was in the same hotel in which she was staying, which made their jobs a little simpler. The building had already been cleared initially, so doing another sweep for the event was slightly less time-consuming. Trip, Fitz’s partner, was doing his hourly check, and their back-up for tonight’s event was already scanning the crowd as it slowly began to gather downstairs. Once Trip returned and gave them the go-ahead, the three of them would make their way to the event, and Fitz would spend the rest of the evening trying to reign in his wholly inappropriate mental and physical attraction to his charge as he stayed by her side.

The two of them had been chatting as they waited, although the conversation had petered into comfortable silence a few seconds ago - during which Fitz had become inappropriately distracted by wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked. Just as she turned from finishing her make-up to meet his gaze, he snapped his eyes away, feeling his cheeks heat up and praying that she hadn’t noticed.

“You know,” he said, clearing his throat and attempting to return to their most recent topic of discussion, “I could always ask my supervisor if he thinks SHIELD might be willing to fund your research on dendrotoxins. It'd be dead useful to have in the field, and Coulson has a lot of pull with the director. And I’d probably be assigned to work on it with you, since I’m sort of the only person in our R-and-D department right now. S’long as you’re not sick of me yet.” Fitz chuckled at that, and looked up to see her studying him with a thoughtful expression on her face, one hand’s fingers tapping along her other arm.

“Fitz, I…” she started, then paused, doing a minute double-take. “Actually, that sounds amazing, but I - we can talk about that tomorrow, maybe. I wanted… I mean, I’ve….” For someone who was almost preternaturally composed, he realized that Simmons seemed genuinely nervous. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you,” she blurted out, a blush spreading across her cheeks the second that she finished.

A horrified swooping sensation flashed through his stomach, and Fitz stood shakily up from where he’d been seated by the expensive suite’s front door. “I’m so sorry,” he replied, keeping his distance even though she took a few steps towards him. “I haven’t - it hasn’t been on purpose, Dr. Simmons, and I understand completely if you’d like someone new assigned to you -“

“What?!” Her voice was rather high-pitched, eyes widened in surprise. “No! That’s not - that’s not why I - it’s not a problem - or surprising, really, I mean, I’m a nubile young prodigy with an above average fashion sense, that’s bound to draw attention from the opposite gender.”

His brows drew together, and he felt thoroughly perplexed. “Er… what?”

Simmons looked rather like she might be about to run and hide, and she passed one hand over her face with a small groan. “God, I’m awful at this. I haven’t - it’s hard to find time to date when the people asking could be out to kill me.” She laughed dully at that, and then shook her head. “Um, but that’s not - never mind.” Letting out an exasperated sigh, she dropped her gaze again. “I like knowing that you’re looking - not just, you know, not just  _anyone_. Just you.”

“Oh.” Fitz’s throat felt suddenly very dry, and he stared back at her, unsure of what to do with that information.

“Unless - unless I was reading that wrong,” she stammered, one hand coming up to tuck a few loose strands behind her ear. “I thought that you… but if you’re not, then please forget I said anything and I’ll just feel horribly embarrassed for the next month.”

“If I’m not what?” He thought he knew what she meant, but considering that he was now giving serious thought to throwing the proverbial bodyguard guidelines out out the window, including the section about never fraternizing with the clientele, he needed confirmation first.

The look she gave him was halfway between consternation and pleading, and she exhaled before she spoke. “If you’re not… interested. In more. With me. Like I thought when I saw you… you know. With that look on your face.”

“I  _am_  interested,” he murmured, pulse thudding loudly in his ears but not so much that he missed the soft hitch in her breath at his words. “But I shouldn’t be.”

Simmons laughed, eyes shining as she took a few careful steps closer to him. “What, just because you’re my bodyguard? Shouldn’t that, I don’t know, make you  _more_ eager to keep me alive?”

An involuntary smile graced his lips, and he ducked his head. “Relationships can get… messy. And it’s against section seventeen of our rules of conduct.”

“Honestly, Fitz,” she said, closing the last of the distance between them, her heels putting her at just the right height to meet his gaze head-on. “I’ve essentially been a hermit for the past six months - if I hadn’t had you around to keep me sane, I don’t know what I would have done.” She curled her fingers into the edges of his tuxedo jacket. “I could do with a little bit of your kind of… mess.” Then she captured his lips with hers, and all thoughts of protesting flew right out of Fitz’s head.

His hands wrapped instinctively around her waist, but she moved closer on her own, pushing him back so that he was trapped between her and the hotel room door. The impact surprised him enough that he made a small “oh,” but she just used the opportunity to slide her tongue along his lower lip and then into his mouth, and he realized that the groan that had just echoed between them came from his throat. Her kisses were heated and addictive, her tongue darting away and forcing him to chase hers to satisfy his own need for that friction. The whimper that she released when he tilted her head back to improve the angle made him lightheaded, and before he realized what he was doing he’d twisted them around so that she was pressed tightly between himself and the door. Her hips tilted teasingly into his, and he curved one hand over her arse to hold her closer, a sharp vein of pleasure darting through him at the contact.

“Christ,” he muttered, releasing her mouth to catch his breath, but she didn’t seem to have any desire to slow down. Her hands slid around to his lower back, holding him in place as she undulated against him, and he groaned again. “Dr. Simmons….”

“Jemma,” she panted, mouthing gently at his jaw as she continued to rock against him. “Call me Jemma.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, dropping his head back down to slant her mouth open. Adrenaline was zipping through his veins, his lips and tongue sliding eagerly against hers, and he wondered dimly why the hell he’d waited so long to do this.

A knock came from the other side of the door, making them both jump. “Fitz, man, why aren’t you answering your phone? Everyone’s in place, and the gala started five minutes ago.” Trip knocked again, just to the side of where Simmons currently leaned, and Fitz swore under his breath as he broke away from her.

“Sorry, give her two more minutes. We’re - she’s almost ready.”

There was a pregnant pause from the other side of the door, and Fitz could practically hear his friend’s proverbial “spidey senses” tingling. “Alright, I’ve got the floor cleared when she is.”

“Shite,” Simmons whispered, fingers curling around his biceps. “Going out there is the last thing I want to do right now.”

“You’ve got to -”

“I know, but I don’t have to like it.” Her honey-brown eyes met his, and she sighed, smoothing one thumb along his stubbled jaw. “As soon as this bloody thing is over, we’re definitely going back to breaking both of our rules.”

He frowned as she slipped out from between him and the door, heading towards the bathroom. “Hang on, what rule are  _you_  breaking?”

Simmons froze, fingers clenching at her side as she had some sort of internal debate before she turned back to him. “I don’t get attached. To anyone. Except, apparently, to you.” Her smile was small and a little sad, and he felt something in his chest clench as she disappeared into the bathroom.

No matter what else happened tonight, Fitz was suddenly very sure that he was in big trouble where Jemma Simmons was concerned - and he was quite possibly thrilled about it. Trouble didn’t seem so bad when it looked like her.


End file.
